"I was planning to be quick,” she said and inwardly grimaced when he gave her a look of furious exasperation.
"Ye didnae think at all,” he snapped. “Ye didnae have a plan, either. Nay, ye just trotted off, knife in hand, prepared to do murder or die in the attempt. Or did ye think everyone would just step back when ye attacked Roderick and say, have at him, dearie."
She slammed her goblet down on a small table next to her and stood up, the smouldering anger still within her now aimed at Payton. The fact that he took a hasty step backward when she moved so quickly pleased her immensely. She did not need him to tell her she had acted hastily, but he could show some sympathy, some understanding of what had driven her to act so unwisely.
"They should,” she said, her gritted teeth making her words terse and sharp. “Everyone there should be eager to pick up sword or dagger and cut that foul mon into a hundred bloody pieces. Nay, I didnae think or plan. All I did think of as I looked at poor wee Robbie was that Roderick had lived far too long. It had to stop. He had to be stopped. Roderick is a sick beast, a vile monster, and I wanted that monster dead. Dead and buried and with every child he has hurt able to spit upon his grave and curse his black soul."
She turned away from him and walked over to the fireplace to stare blindly into the flames. Kirstie realized she wanted to weep and inwardly cursed herself for such a weakness. Although a good, hearty cry might make her feel less twisted-up by conflicting emotions, it would solve nothing. She tensed a little when Payton stepped up close behind her and wrapped his arms around her.
"The wee lads wouldnae spit on that bastard's grave,” he said against her ear. “They would piss on it."
Kirstie could not believe such crude words would make her want to laugh. She recognized both the humor and the truth of them, however. It would certainly be what her brothers would do, even the gentle, refined Eudard.
"Why did that boy look so much like Callum?” she asked, hoping conversation would help her remain cool to his light embrace, to the soft kisses he placed against her ear and neck.
"Because I believe Callum may be a kinsmon of his,” Payton replied.
Kirstie broke free of his hold and moved to the side, away from the heat of the fire and him, before facing him. “Are ye sure?"
"As sure as I can be, but, until I get a mother's name and, mayhap, a bit more information, I will say naught to the boy. The MacMillans will take one look at Callum and ken he is one of theirs, but Callum needs more if he is to believe and accept it.” Payton moved to stand in front of her, then edged forward until she was backed up against the wall. “Then he will have a name, a clan to belong to. And, if I can actually find a close kinsmon, ‘twill be e'en better."
"Would they want him?"
"Aye.” He saw a brief flicker of doubt in her expression. “They are my Uncle Eric's clan. Trust me to ken how they will act. They will welcome the lad into the fold without hesitation or condemnation. A blood tie is verra important to them."
"Oh, that would be wonderful. To give Callum a name, a heritage, e'en a clan, would do so much good for him.” She frowned a little when Payton placed his hands on either side of her head and drew so close that their bodies would rub together if either of them took a deep breath. “Move away. I grow weary of this game of seduction ye play."
When she tried to move away, he pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the wall. Payton gently gripped her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. “So do I,” he said and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “I grow weary of ye fighting what flares between us. I tire of waiting for your aye."
"Poor lad. Ye cannae conceive of a lass telling ye nay, is that it?"
The bite she had intended to put behind her words was very weak. It was hard to be cold and sarcastic when his nearness was making her short of breath. The way he was kissing her face, brushing his lips over hers, and nibbling at her ears was making her entirely too warm. His groin was pressed close to hers and the feel of the hard ridge of his manhood was making her knees weak. She wanted to kiss him back, wanted to run her hands through his hair and all over his lean body, and she wanted to rub against him like some hungry wanton. What he could make her feel was frightening and thrilling at the same time.
"It hasnae happened before,” he drawled and almost laughed at her look of outrage. “Ye want to say aye, lass,” he said and kissed her. “Say aye,” he murmured against her throat.
"I cannae.” She trembled at the feel of his warm lips against the rapid pulse in her throat. “I am a wedded woman."
"Ye are an unbedded widow."
Payton kept her distracted with kisses as he unlaced her tunic, then slid his hand inside it to cup her breast. It fit his hand perfectly. The way she gasped softly and arched slightly made him ache for more.
"Why do ye press me so?"
"Because I ache for ye. Ye are a passionate woman, Kirstie, and I want to revel in that."
"Go revel in one of your other women,” she gasped when he brushed a kiss over the soft swell of her breast.
"Dinnae want another one.” He moved against her as he brushed his thumb over the hard tip of her breast.
"Weel, ye cannae have this one."
For a brief moment she tried to resist his kiss, but, with a sigh, gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck. This kiss was different from the others. It was more of a demand, a possessive urgency, than a seduction. She felt dazed yet vibrantly alive when he ended it. When he moved against her, his body acting out the possession he demanded of her, she could not fully stifle a moan. She clutched at his tunic and met his gaze.
"Aye, I can,” he said. “I will. Your nay was merely troublesome ere ye tried to martyr yourself. Now ‘tis nearly a sin. Ye tried to steal away something I crave ere I could e'en have a taste."
"Whether or not I would survive to warm your bed wasnae something I gave much thought to.” It was difficult to sound firm, even derisive, when one's voice was husky with desire, she decided. It was no wonder the man ignored her words.
"Ye want this as much as I do, my wee Shadow,” he murmured. “Ye tremble with need."
"'Tis fright.” His chuckle warmed her throat and the rhythmic press of his erection made her feel agitated, needy.
"Ah, lass, ye want this. Right now ye are thinking on how it would be if we were skin to skin."
"Nay!” She wondered how he knew what thoughts were in her head.
"I ache to see your beauty unclothed, to taste your fine skin. I want to bury myself deep inside your heat,” he said softly as he pressed his cheek against hers. “Slow and deep.” He grasped her backside in his hands, holding her close as he spoke. “At first. Aye, then fast, fast and fierce. Ye can feel how it would be, can ye not, lass? Aye, ye can. Your body can, too. I can feel your woman's heat against me. Ah, lass, let me in. Let me show ye paradise."
He moved back a little even as he devoured her mouth, his tongue imitating all he said their bodies would do. For a moment, she thought he was about to put a stop to this attempt at seducing her, but then she felt his fingers slide inside her hose. If not for the strong arm he had wrapped around her, Kirstie knew she would have collapsed when he stroked her between her legs. Although a part of her, the one panting and clutching at Payton, wanted to shove him down onto the floor and ravish him, another part of her, a sensible, calmer part, was alarmed by the ferocity of the feelings his intimate caress roused in her.
"Ye are so hot, so hot and wet, Kirstie,” he said, his voice deep and seductive.
When she realized she was moving against his hand, the part of her which was frightened and shocked won out over the wanton side of her. With a soft curse, she pulled free of him. Kirstie started toward the door on legs that felt alarmingly unsteady and hastily fixed her disordered clothing. When she reached the door and grasped the latch, she looked back at him. The taut, hungry look upon his beautiful face almost drew her back into his arms.
"Ye, sir, are a pestilence,” she snapped and fled
, nearly running into Ian on her way out.
"That woman is determined to cripple me,” said Payton as he quickly poured himself a tankard of wine, praying a few hearty drinks would drown the need twisting up his insides. He looked back at Ian, saw the man open his mouth, and quickly said, “I am in no mood for your teasing. One remark about how I may be losing my charm with my advancing age and I willnae be responsible for what I do next.” He gulped down the wine and refilled his tankard.
"Mayhap the lass doesnae want ye,” said Ian.
"She does. Mayhap e'en as much as I want her."
"She is a maiden and a woman who believes in vows given, I think, nay matter who they were given to."
"I ken it."
"Then why dinnae ye leave her be?” Ian asked as he sat down.
"I cannae,” Payton snapped, then sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I think I have been hard for her since I first saw her in the light. I swear, I just hear her footsteps and my rod is on alert, trying to sniff her out. I wake up in the night, asweat and aching, and have to fight to stop myself from going to her room, getting into that bed with her, and ignoring her nay until it becomes a verra loud aye."
"Ah, nay, that wouldnae be good. She is nay one of your women."
"I ken it."
Ian stretched his legs out, stared at his boots for a moment, then looked back at Payton. “So, if ye do get her into your bed, what will ye do afterward?"
"Have her again.” He ignored Ian's brief look of disgust and sat down. “I dinnae ken. Mayhap after I have rutted myself blind with her for a fortnight or two, I can once again start thinking like the sharp-witted fellow I always thought I was.” He smiled faintly when Ian laughed. “I think I will see if it, weel, fades, if it is all just some brief madness. The moment ‘tis kenned that she has stayed here with me, ‘twill be thought that we were lovers, so I cannae save her from that by leaving her be. And, since she has been wed for five years, no one will e'er think I seduced a maiden. So, unfair or e'en unkind it may be, but I will make no decision on a future until I ken exactly what ails me."
"That may be for the best, mayhap e'en the kindest way.” Ian fetched himself a drink of wine. “Do ye think she really would have killed that bastard today?” he asked as he sat down again.
"Nay,” replied Payton. “She was already changing her mind, moving toward the door. She saw Uven. Thought it was Callum."
"Did ye tell her why the lads look like twins?"
"As little as I ken, aye. She willnae say anything. Have ye discovered anything?"
"His mither's name was Joan. She was the swineherd's youngest daughter. The mon still lives. I plan on speaking to him soon. Need to ready myself as I may have to control the urge to pound him into the muck. Ye see, he tossed the poor lass out soon as he kenned she was carrying.” He nodded when Payton cursed. “Most think he kenned exactly who Callum was."
"The bastard! How could any mon turn his back on his own blood like that?"
"'Tis certainly a branch of the family tree Callum doesnae need to be told about."
"Nay, he doesnae. There is a chance he already kens it, but I willnae put it to the test. Let me ken when ye have found out more,” Payton said as he stood up. “I will see if Sir Bryan kens a Joan, the swineherd's daughter, when I am at the castle on the morrow. It has been a long day and, if the past fortnight is any indication, I forsee a verra long night. Good sleep,” he added on a sigh as he left Ian and went to seek out his still painfully empty bed.
Kirstie tightly gripped her covers as she heard Payton's footsteps hesitate briefly outside of her bedchamber door, then continue on to his own room. That she could recognize the sound of his footsteps irritated her. She did not want to be that aware of him. She could not be sure if she clutched her bedcovers to hold herself back from going to him or in anticipation of his entering her room, and that annoyed her as well.
The man truly was a pestilence. He left her so hot and agitated her night shift and the bedcovers felt oppressive. Her nipples were hard and they ached. She hardly dared breathe, for it caused the soft linen of her shift to move against her and she kept being reminded of his touch. Worse, she could still feel his hand between her legs, still wanted it there. Every word he had said seemed locked into her mind, refusing to be banished.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to think of every good, sound reason why she had to hold firm to her chastity, had to resist the temptation of the man. With each kiss, each caress, that grew more difficult. Kirstie was infuriated by her own weakness.
Behind her eyelids she could still see him, still see the desire on his beautiful face. In her mind she could hear his rich, deep voice promising to show her paradise. She cursed. It was going to be a very, very long night.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Callum and Moira looked up as Kirstie entered the room where the children slept. They sat cross-legged on the bed where a rapidly improving Robbie sat propped up by several fat pillows. She smiled at the children as she set down a tray of honey-sweetened oat-cakes and cool cider she had brought for them.
"Wheesht, lad,” she said to Robbie, “if ye can look this good after only four days, ye will soon be out of that bed."
"I wanted to get out of bed today, but Wee Alice told me I couldnae,” said Robbie.
The hint of sulkiness in his voice delighted Kirstie. She considered it a sure sign that he was healing. He sounded exactly like any other little boy stuck in a sick bed.
"'Tis best to heed what Wee Alice says, lad. Now, eat what she has sent ye. Ye need to put some fat on those bones. David, Alan, and William assure me that these are the best oatcakes they have e'er tasted."
"They are in the kitchens with Wee Alice again, arenae they?” Callum said between bites of an oatcake.
"Aye. They like her,” replied Kirstie.
"I think they like her a lot. Her and Strong Ian."
"Weel, they are verra good people."
"Oh, aye. Strong Ian isnae teaching them how to fight, though. They are still too wee for that."
"Aye. ‘Twill be a few years yet ere they can be taught the monly art of fighting."
Kirstie almost smiled when Callum replied with a solemn nod. He was jealous of his position as Ian's student. Every morning he and Ian went down into the surprisingly spacious cellars of the house to practice fighting. As she had watched Callum grow less wary, less angry at the whole world, she had lost her uneasiness about that training. She had a suspicion that there had been a few man-to-man talks as well, talks undoubtedly aimed at taking away his guilt and shame. Kirstie sensed a blossoming pride in Callum and it thrilled her.
She stayed and talked with the children until they had finished the cider and oatcakes. Callum assured her that he was able to help Robbie if the boy needed anything so Kirstie took the tray back to the kitchen. She peered out the window and saw the three other little boys helping Alice in the garden.
"My Alice is verra fond of the lads."
A little squeak of alarm escaped Kirstie for she had not heard Ian approach. She turned to look at him. He was a very big man, dark, none too handsome, and scarred, yet she had quickly seen the kindness in the man. At the moment, however, he looked uneasy, almost nervous.
"I believe the lads are verra fond of her as weel,” Kirstie said.
"Aye.” Ian ran his fingers over the large, jagged scar on his cheek, then sighed. “Did ye have any plans for the children? When ‘tis safe, I mean."
"Oh, weel, no firm ones. I was going to send them all to my brother Eudard, as I did the others."
He nodded. “I remember ye saying that."
"Of course, it then grew too dangerous to do so. None of these children has family so I rather think I shall keep them. Mayhap when we are all safe and with my kinsmen, I will find families who want them or e'en apprentice them to someone.” She shrugged. “There is no hurry to decide."
"Nay, nay.” He looked out the window at his wif
e and the boys. “I wed Alice near fifteen years ago. She was but fourteen and I was seventeen. She was soon carrying, but lost the bairn. Lost two more in the two years that followed. The midwife said something was damaged when she lost the last one. ‘Twas for the best, I think, for she grieved so and was near death each time. The midwife must have been right in saying Alice was now barren for there has ne'er been another."
"How verra sad,” she murmured, her heart aching for the couple.
Kirstie also felt uneasy for she knew what the man was struggling to ask her and, for a moment, she battled a selfish urge to hold fast to the children. She had not had such a feeling with the others, but suspected that was because she had sent them away so quickly. These children had been in her care far longer, had nudged their way into her heart. It took only one quick glance out the window to banish the feeling, however. She could see the bond between the three little boys and Alice. The boys had found their home and she would be the worst sort of wretch to deny it to them. When Ian finally looked at her again, she smiled encouragingly at him.
"Weel, if ye have no plans for the wee lads out there, mayhap ye would let them stay with me and Alice. Now, I havenae said a word to my Alice or the lads,” he hurried to say. “Being as the bairns were in your care and all, couldnae be sure what ye intended or felt. Didnae want to give my Alice false hope, ye ken. Now, I ken I am nay a rich mon."
"Ian,” she said, interrupting his nervous recitation of his qualifications or lack thereof, “they were three ragged orphans or abandoned children. Nay sure which. I suspicion ye can give them far more than the foundling home did and a better future, too.” His sigh of relief was so heavy, Kirstie was a little surprised she stood firm before it. “Ye just want those three, aye?"
"Oh, we would take them all and I mean to tell the others that. Dinnae want any bruised feelings.” He looked out at his wife and the three little boys again. “'Tis just that those three, weel, my Alice and them seem to be, weel..."
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