"I'll never hurt you like that." His warm breath stirred her hair and his whisper was achingly gentle as his mouth began retracing its stirring path to her ear again.
Imprisoned by his protective embrace, and seduced by his mouth, Rhiannon clung to him, sliding slowly into a dark abyss of desire.
His tongue traced a hot line between her lips, coaxing them to part, and then insisting. The moment she yielded, his tongue plunged inside, stroking and caressing. Rhiannon surrendered mindlessly to the stormy splendor of his kiss.
Her hands shifted restlessly over his heavily muscled shoulders and forearms, her lips moving against his with increasing abandon as she unwittingly fed his hunger. Each time she stroked her lips over his, she felt him shudder, felt the thunder of his heartbeat against her own breast. The knowledge empowered her, encouraged her to go on, to explore him more deeply.
The shadow of time shifted within the small cottage. Neither noticed. And when he finally pulled his mouth from hers an eternity later, their breathing came in mingled gasps. His face was dark with passion, his eyes a smoldering blue.
"We have to stop," he whispered on a long, tortured breath. He lifted a lock of her hair, tenderly brushing it off her shoulder. "I promised you'd be safe here from me, but if we continue…" His voice sounded strangled, as though it took everything he had to pull away from her.
Rhiannon mourned the loss of his lips upon her flesh, but then her swirling senses returned to reality, slowly at first, then with a sickening plummet. Passion gave way to anguished shame. "I didn't expect … I never should have…" Where had the wild attraction she felt for his man come from? Was this just one more family "attribute" she had inherited?
Mother Agnes was right to call her a black seed. The passion he had unleashed in her went far beyond what was considered civilized and proper. What they'd shared had been wild and uncontrollable.
She issued a sound that was part sob, part groan. "What have I done?"
"You are not the only one at fault here, Rhiannon," he said softly, as though understanding her anguish.
"We must leave." She jerked out of his grasp and with wooden movements made her way to the door. She pulled it slightly open and nearly sobbed with relief to see that the snow had stopped. "We must leave now." She hurried to the hearth and snatched her cloak, but a loud crack of thunder startled her before she reached it. The door shattered, wood splinters flying everywhere. Camden surged for her, taking her with him to the ground.
She shrieked as her shoulder hit the ground. But before she could feel any pain, Camden rolled her on her side, his big body covering her own.
"What's happening?" she cried. "I thought you said this cottage was abandoned."
"It was."
"Maybe whoever started that fire has returned," Rhiannon whispered as silence settled around them.
"Whoever started that fire is no friend of ours." Camden shifted her to his side. "Stay down," he ordered. His muscles tensed and he strained to listen. Other than their own harsh breathing, silence surrounded them. Time seemed to stand still as they lay there on the floor of the cottage. Then a soft squeak of a floorboard sounded from near the door.
Before she had time to draw a breath, Camden sprang up, sword in hand. The clang of steel sounded.
Rhiannon sat up, scooting back toward the hearth, to where she could see that Camden had charged another man dressed all in black, his face partially concealed by a dark swatch of fabric over the lower half of his face.
The man slashed his sword toward Camden, who spun away, leaving the other man swinging at the air.
Camden whirled, then lunged. The attacker parried, then counterthrust with deadly precision. Each thrust intensified in a lethal game where only one man would walk away.
Camden said something, but above the clang of their swords, she could only make out a few words. "Mistake … changed … do not…" Their blades came together, sliding to the hilts, the stranger spun away, feinting to the left while he cut with an agile backhand high across Camden's upper arm, leaving a streak of red on the exposed flesh.
Rhiannon gasped. Camden bared his teeth and with a savage roar went on full attack, forcing his opponent out the door into the snow. In the background a horse shrieked, and Rhiannon knew what she had to do.
She gained her feet and hurried to the open doorway. Her heart thundering in her chest, she slipped outside to where they had tied their horse. With fingers that suddenly felt as though they were weighted with lead, she untied the stranger's horse, and with a whack on the rear sent it racing off into the distance.
A moment later, she'd freed their horse and hoisted herself onto the animal's back. With a prayer for luck, Rhiannon kicked her heels into the horse's flank, thrusting herself and the horse into the battle. "Give me your hand," she yelled a moment before she reached Camden and the stranger as they fought in the snow that came up to their knees.
Both men startled at the sight of her. Taking advantage of the moment and drawing on strength she did not know she possessed, she hauled Camden onto the horse behind her. Tucking her head against the wind, she spurred the horse into a sprint, putting distance between them and the swordsman in black.
A roar of outrage filled the air. No doubt the man had discovered his horse was missing. Rhiannon smiled to herself.
Camden sheathed his sword and grasped her waist, balancing himself on the back of the horse. "What are you doing?"
"Saving your life."
"Risking your own."
"It worked," she said, spurring their horse into as fast a gait as possible in the deep snow. She cast a quick glance at the wound in his arm. "Who was that man?"
"God's blood," he swore beneath his breath. "He's no friend of ours. Keep this horse moving. I'll not rest easy until we are safe behind the castle walls."
At the pain in his voice, Rhiannon glanced back again, to the thick gash in his arm and the rivulets of blood that trailed down his arm and leg, and onto the horse's flanks.
"Your wound is worse than I thought. We have to stop." She slowed the horse.
"Do not stop this beast," he said between his teeth. "Keep going, with as much speed as possible. No matter what happens to me, promise me you'll keep going until you reach the castle."
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that they'd left the stranger far behind. But a sick feeling in her stomach told her otherwise. It would be foolhardy to stop until they were certain of their safety. She'd watched the dark stranger fight. She'd seen the lethal look in his eyes that said he'd come to kill.
"I promise," she whispered, and some of the tension in his body eased as it pressed intimately against her own. She kept the horse moving. Her soft shoes dug into the horse's side, urging the beast to continued speed. They had to reach the castle soon.
The chill air of the early evening fairly crackled with tension. How had anyone found them in such an isolated place? No one had known where they were headed. Or did they? And who exactly was the man after? Violet was not with them as she had been when the man had attacked before. Even though the man had concealed part of his face, Rhiannon had recognized him as the same assassin who had attacked her and Violet in the horse cart only a few days past.
Rhiannon gripped the reins, her fingers frozen in the bitter cold. In her haste to escape, she'd left both of their cloaks behind. The cold seemed to soak through the layers of her clothing until prickles of ice wrapped around her spine, and seemed to be all that kept her atop the horse. She could almost believe she floated just above her chilled body; there was room for action only, and her feelings were remote to that need.
The moon was a crescent-shaped sliver rising over the top of the mountains. Stars hung suspended by the millions. The last traces of pink touched the evening sky when Lee Castle came into view.
She kept the horse moving as pace by pace they approached their goal. Her mind, her body, her senses were numb from cold. The great iron portcullis rose and the gate opened wide. She felt as though she hun
g suspended, watching but not participating, as someone stopped the horse, then pulled Camden and herself from the animal's back.
"We need boiling water," a voice from outside herself called. Mistress Faulkner? Orrin? She could not be certain as gentle hands guided her into the keep, up the stairs, and into the master's bedchamber.
Chapter Ten
Pinpricks of sensation coursed over Rhiannon's flesh, wringing a gasp from her lips. She was too cold and too hot all in the same moment. She writhed in the bathwater, seeking freedom from the torture she now endured, only to be pressed back down into the copper tub. More buckets of steaming water joined the others. And slowly, Rhiannon felt the chill that had permeated her bones melt away.
Relaxed now, she closed her eyes and leaned back into the side of the tub, allowing the hot water to flow all around her, turning her flesh a reddish-pink. Had she ever been that cold in her life? She shivered just thinking about it.
The soft voices that had filled the room vanished. The door to the bedchamber closed. Silence settled over the room. And suddenly she became aware of another presence beside her.
She snapped her eyes open. Camden sat in a tub next to hers. His torso was bare, and had turned the same reddish-pink as her own flesh. Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. She'd never seen a naked male before. She swallowed and drew a shaky breath as her gaze met his. Wild heat flooded her cheeks at her unusually bold appraisal.
But hers was not the only exploration. His gaze lingered on the rise of her breasts just above the surface of the water. A stirring low in her belly brought a new wave of heat to her cheeks. "Why did they bring me here instead of the chamber across the hall?"
"I told them to." His gaze rose to her face and he offered her a reckless smile. "You are an excellent horsewoman."
"Thank you," she replied, dipping deeper beneath the water.
"It takes great skill to handle a horse the way you did back in the forest." He feigned a sigh. "'Tis a blow to my manliness to admit I was rescued by a female."
"How is your arm?" she asked, suddenly aware of a subtle difference in their banter. He played with her. And his underlying sense of suspicion had vanished.
"Bertie wasted no time in sewing the wound." He shifted in the water, hanging his bandaged arm over the side of the tub, closing the distance between them. "I shall live for other adventures." The words were spoken with silken sensuality. His gaze moved slowly across her shoulders, her breasts, and further below the surface of the water.
"As will your pride, I am sure." She found herself staring at him, unable to look away from those light blue eyes. She could feel her heart beating harder, her skin warming as the blood ran faster in her veins.
"In time, perhaps."
She could see the pulse drumming in his temple and watched as the feathery curve of his lashes came down to hide the blue of his eyes. She caught his scent — musk and mint — and inhaled deeply, committing the fragrance to memory. Rhiannon wished she could think of something to say that would bring an end to the tension building between them.
His gaze moved to her neck, tracing the curve of her flesh from her shoulder to her ear. She trembled, willed herself to breath slowly. How did he do it? All he had to do was look at her and she went weak in the knees. Thank goodness she was sitting down.
"Lord Lockhart," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Camden."
She drew a deep breath and tried again, knowing the question she had to ask. "Camden, who was that man?"
The warmth in his eyes faded. "An assassin."
"Why was he after us?"
"I suppose it had something to do with us being at the cottage."
The explanation seemed reasonable, yet she could hear the tension in his words. She knew it was the same assassin as before. But who exactly were they after, her or Violet?
"I'm getting out of the bath," he warned. "Close your eyes or look your fill." The water rippled.
Rhiannon squeezed her eyes shut, though her cheeks heated once more at the image of his naked body that appeared in her mind. She listened as he stepped out of the bath. The sound of shuffling cloth followed before he said, "You can open your eyes."
As if on command, her eyes drifted open, immediately seeking him out. He stood before her, his upper body bare, his lower body concealed by a soft linen towel. Warmth spread through her at the sight.
He held a towel out to her. "You want some help?"
The heat turned to a slow flame at the suggestion. "That would leave me unfairly exposed," she said boldly, with a hint of huskiness in her voice.
Just then, a knock sounded on the door. "Enter," Camden called.
Mistress Faulkner hustled in.
"Would you allow Magdeline to assist you?" He held the towel out to Mistress Faulkner. The woman accepted the cloth with a frown.
"I would be grateful," Rhiannon said.
Camden turned to Mistress Faulkner, sparing Rhiannon any more censure. "Magdeline, please find Mistress Rhiannon something suitable to wear down to supper. The whole castle will be wanting to gaze upon the woman who saved their lord."
When he was gone, Rhiannon stood. Cool evening air caressed her skin, dispelling what remained of the heat between herself and Camden. She turned to face the chatelaine. "Mistress Faulkner, if you'd rather not assist me, I understand. I've grown used to caring for myself over the years."
"Nonsense," she said, wrapping the towel around Rhiannon's body. "I am capable of performing my duty regardless of my feelings for you. What the master does is his own business. He is the one who has to live with his choices at the end of the day."
The chatelaine turned away, toward the tall wardrobe on the wall opposite the door and swung the doors open wide. "I cannot pass judgment on what goes on around here. If the master wants to dally with the woman who's responsible for killin' his kin, what do I have to say about it?"
It seemed as though the woman had a lot to say on the subject. Rhiannon moved toward the fire, and stared into the flames as they licked the logs, devouring them as surely as her family's reputation devoured her. No matter what she did, nothing would ever change the fact that she was a Ruthven.
The usual emptiness that she carried inside her returned. For a short while today at the cottage, she and Camden had talked, like friends. He had not judged her then.
But they had done more than talk. Heat crept into her cheeks at the memory of his lips upon hers. She touched her lips with the back of her hand. This evening he had continued to treat her in a friendly manner. The heat in his eyes did not reflect hatred, only desire.
And in those moments she had felt different, satisfied, almost as if she mattered to someone else on this earth.
Almost.
Rhiannon shifted her gaze back to the chatelaine. With her back turned, Mistress Faulkner hummed a lilting tune that Rhiannon recognized as a Celtic prayer. "Lady Lockhart must have left something behind here that would fit you."
While Mistress Faulkner sorted through garments, Rhiannon toweled her body dry, then set to work on her hair.
"This will do just fine." The chatelaine stepped back from the wardrobe, a triumphant gleam on her aged face. She gathered a few other things before coming to stand beside Rhiannon at the hearth. "While you don't deserve to wear her things, this dress will look lovely on you."
Rhiannon's throat burned with unshed tears, but she held her emotions in check. The woman continued her belittling rambling as she slipped a sheer linen chemise over Rhiannon's head, followed by a sapphire blue velvet gown.
Rhiannon remained silent, trying to force her mind on to other things until the woman finally stood back, satisfied with what she saw. "The evening meal is being served. If you want to eat, you will have to join the others." With those last words, she left as quickly as she had come.
Feeling unwanted and suddenly alone, Rhiannon nervously smoothed her fingers over the luxurious fabric of the dress Mistress Faulkner had chosen for her. The c
olor reminded her of Camden's eyes as they'd filled with passion earlier this afternoon.
Heat came to her cheeks again at the memory. Would he have kissed her like that if he still hated her? It was hard to imagine so. Rhiannon forced a smile to her lips. Perhaps she wasn't as alone as she imagined. With Camden and Violet on her side, she could handle the rest of the household.
Gathering her tattered pride, Rhiannon moved to the door only to be greeted by the two hulking warriors Camden had placed at her door the night before. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said as she strode past them down the hall. They followed.
A cacophony of sound greeted her as she stepped into the great hall, followed by the savory scent of roast mutton and onions. She paused for a moment, fortifying herself for the night ahead, when the sound in the room suddenly died and all eyes fastened on her.
More people than she had ever seen together in one room before sat at long tables in rows across the entire hall. Lord Lockhart and Violet sat at the table in the front of the room, and on legs that trembled ever so slightly, Rhiannon made her way into the room.
She had no idea where to sit. No doubt not with Camden at the high table, but where else? Open spaces on the benches seemed to close as she drew near. Weaving her way between the tables, Rhiannon did not miss the scowls directed at her. One woman spit on her as she passed, and several people hissed. The man she knew as Camden's steward, Bertie, stared at her with hatred in his eyes.
She held her head high as she continued forward looking for a quiet, perhaps isolated place to sit. Her legs wobbled beneath her now.
"Mistress Plague," cursed a scullery maid as she passed.
"The devil's daughter," another woman hissed.
Rhiannon kept moving forward. A moment later, her foot snagged something and she catapulted forward, hitting her elbow and her thigh against the wooden bench on her right, before she slammed against the hard stone floor. She hitched in a breath. Tears threatened from the pain as well as the humiliation that burned in her chest. Someone had tripped her intentionally.
Warrior's Lady Page 10
