She smiled weakly. “So you say. It isn’t as easy as all that.”
“A man’s not half the puzzle a woman can be. A woman’s all twists and turns.”
“That’s nothing more than slander. I think you know me uncomfortably well, and is Giorsal so very hard to understand?”
“Ah, but Giorsal blurts out exactly what she’s thinking, even when you wish she’d keep her mouth shut.”
“And others,” she said quietly, “never give a hint about what they’re thinking.”
“There’s all kinds of reasons for hiding like that, Em.”
“I suppose there is.” She sighed. “And we all think they’re good ones.” She smiled faintly. “Didn’t you say Giorsal packed some food? Perhaps we should get ourselves something to eat.”
If he did not feel like talking, she was not going to try and force the words out of him. She knew that, even if she succeeded in some form, it would be the worst thing she could do. The words she wanted to hear said had to come freely, be willingly spoken.
Cursing himself over and over for being a coward, Cloud went along with her suggestion that they eat. He had thought it would be easier to speak his heart when they were alone like this, but the habit of keeping his cards close to his chest was a hard one to break. It was easy to see that he had disappointed her by brushing aside that brief emotional moment. She was very quiet until he finally prodded her into talking about what she might like to do to the house to make it more livable.
When they finally returned to bed, he made slow, gentle love to her, trying to show her with his every touch what he found so hard to say. Afterwards, as he held her and felt her body begin to relax in sleep, he acknowledged that that was no longer enough—not for him and certainly not for her. There was a lot in what Emily said or did that made him sure that she cared for him, but he suddenly craved knowing the full truth even if she could not yet say that she loved him.
He admitted wryly that, because he had seen what she meant to him, he had expected her to simply see it as well. That, he saw now, was but wishful thinking on his part. She could no more be sure of his feelings than he could be of hers without some sort of declaration, something more than sweet words whispered in the heat of passion.
“Em? Ah, my Emily, I’m a coward,” he whispered into her hair, “because I know you’re probably too sleepy to hear this clearly but I love you. God, Em, how I love you.” His hold on her tightened just a little.
Emily found it very hard not to leap up and demand that he say it again and louder. She was also afraid that she had not really heard what she thought she had. They were the words she had craved for too long. It was easy to fear that she had imagined them being said. Taking a deep breath to steady her slipping courage, she decided it was past time for honesty.
“I love you too, Cloud.” Even though she had not moved and had whispered the words, the way his grip on her tightened convulsively told her he had heard her.
Although the words continued to ring in his ears, he felt uncertain and asked hoarsely, “What did you say?”
Deciding there was no turning back now, she repeated a little more clearly, “I said I love you—too.” She found herself the recipient of a kiss that stirred a passion she thought should have been well satisfied, and when it ended, she asked shakily, “I did hear you say it, didn’t I? If I didn’t, could you just lie to me a little so I won’t feel so foolish?”
He laughed softly as he hugged her. “I said it, though God knows, it took me a hell of a long time to spit the words out and you might’ve waited a lot longer for the confession if you’d been asleep like I thought you were.” He shook his head as he looked at her and gently brushed the tangled hair from her face with, to his amusement, an unsteady hand. “I brought you here so we could have some time alone, planning to have that all important talk neither of us has dared to start.”
“Then got cold feet.” She smiled at him with amused understanding.
“Frostbitten.” He smiled when she giggled.
Cuddling up to him and feeling nearly lightheaded with happiness, she asked, “When did you know?”
“That’s hard to say, honey. The time I saw it clear was when you got shot.” Feeling a hint of the fear that had gripped him then, he held her a little tighter. “God, Em, I couldn’t stop the bleeding, then you got that fever.” He shook his head. “I was terrified, blind terrified. I don’t think I ever got that scared in the war.
“I thought you would die and I suddenly knew a hell of a lot of me would die with you. I couldn’t hide how I felt. Giorsal saw it clear, and I’m sure everyone but you did too. She was the only one who spoke out.”
“That comes as no surprise.”
“Right. Well, when I was muttering about why you’d done such a fool thing, putting yourself between me and that bullet she said I should know. Said you did it for the same reason I would’ve done the same thing, or both of us would walk straight into the arms of the Grim Reaper if it’d save the kids. Said I ought to think on that. I did some serious thinking on it as soon as you started to get better. The way I acted when your fever broke and you woke up clear-eyed pushed me to it.”
Stroking her back, he continued, “One thing I saw clear was that it’d been there for a long time. I just never looked close. There was that jealousy I felt concerning the major’s attentions towards you.”
She looked at him a slight surprise. “You were jealous? I didn’t notice.”
“I didn’t want you to. I wasn’t too pleased to be feeling that way. James guessing and grinning like a fool was bad enough. I haven’t been jealous since I was a green kid. I didn’t like it and I didn’t want to feel it.”
“Poor Cloud.” Her voice relayed her total lack of sympathy and she met his mock scowl with a grin. “I cannot say I am sorry for carrying on with the major. He showed me that I was no wanton, that my apparent lack of restraint and morals was solely due to you.” She smiled crookedly when he looked pleased about that, for she did not really mind. “There was something else I discovered that night.”
“That you like punch?”
“Very amusing. No. The major told me a few tales about you.”
“Scandalous ones?”
“No, just about things you’d done. Things that confirmed a strong suspicion I already had. You never would have left Thornton and me to struggle on alone, not for a moment. You might have been sneaky about helping, but you would have helped. I knew that night you had tricked me into your bed.”
“But you didn’t leave it.” He was surprised that the revelation she had fleetingly confessed to once before had come that early in the game. “You didn’t even get angry.”
“Oh, yes, I did. Furious. I intended to corner you immediately, tell you what a rogue you were and disassociate myself from you as quickly as I could.”
“Which was something I constantly expected you to do. Why didn’t you? Something change your mind?”
“Mmmm. A whole minute’s thought. I simply admitted to myself that I wanted to be with you.”
“That early?”
‘I fear so. And I knew by the way it made me feel to watch you and Justine embrace that it was not only my chastity I’d lost in that bargain.”
“You still weren’t sure, were you?” He turned, taking her with him so that she was on her back with him comfortably sprawled on top of her.
“I was but I didn’t want to be. For the most part, I simply did not think about it. At that point I was falling and could not think of any way to stop myself. Then, to be honest, and despite the pain I thought I was setting myself up for, I simply did not care. I wanted it all, but"—she smiled faintly as she moved her feet over his calves—"I was such a sad case that I was willing to take what I could get.” She cupped his face in her hands and slowly kissed him. “I knew by then,” she added softly, “that even what little you seemed willing to give could make me happy so long as you let me stay.”
He felt deeply moved by her words yet g
uilty for the pain and worry he knew he must have caused her. “You were a hell of a lot more patient than I could ever be.”
“Patience is easy enough to gain when the prize one goes for is beyond value.”
“Any regrets?” He smiled faintly. “I know I’m not an easy man to live with.”
“Not so difficult as you might think. And no,” she said with a smile, “you are not perfect.” Then she grew serious, her gaze moving lovingly over his face. “But, warts and all, you are my life, Cloud Ryder.”
Holding her tightly, he buried his face in her neck and felt emotion swamp him. “And you’re mine. When I almost lost you to
Dorothy’s bullet, I knew it, knew I’d go on living but it’d never be as good. I need you.” Back in control and feeling a little uncomfortable with such intense emotion, he moved against her suggestively. “Surprised?”
Sensing that he had been as revealing as he was going to be, and not minding at all for she knew the barriers around their hearts had come down and would never be rebuilt, she let him change the mood. “Not at all.” She slid her hand down his stomach to lightly caress him. “I have to tell you, I seem to have developed a strange quirk.”
Closing his eyes, he savored her touch and fought to restrain his passion for at least a little while. “What’s that?”
“I’ve developed a real fondness for one particular expression of yours.” She wanted him to make love to her, wanted him to show her the love he had spoken of.
It was not long before Cloud was past thinking clearly but managed to rasp, “What is it?”
“Oh, just a little thing you say when you’re going to give me something I want.”
His passion stirred beyond his control, he tugged her tormenting little hand away and readied himself to possess her as he so ached to do. “You can tell me later.”
“Aren’t you just a little curious?”
“Shut up, Em.”
She laughed softly as he joined their bodies, a joining she knew now was and always would be one of the heart as well as of the body.
“That’s it.”
The Murrays are back! From New York Times bestselling author Hannah Howell comes an all-new story of the beloved Scottish family, and two lovers entangled in a plot against the king …
Someone would see Ilsabeth Murray
Armstrong hang for murder.
When her dagger is found buried in the body of one of the king’s men, there is little room for doubt—the perpetrator must pay with her life. But Ilsabeth is no killer, and only one person can help clear her name: Sir Simon Innes, a man so steely and cool that no danger can rattle him … and no woman in distress can sway his heart.
Until now. Simon has spent his life searching for truth in a world fraught with deception. But the hauntingly beautiful fugitive seeking his aid affects him so deeply, he wonders if he can trust the flawless judgment he has always relied on. For all signs point to Ilsabeth’s guilt, except one—the unparalleled desire he feels at her slightest touch …
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak
peek
of HIGHLAND PROTECTOR,
coming next month!
Scotland, summer 1479
“I bow in awe of the sacrifices ye are willing to make for our great cause, Walter.”
“Dinnae bow too low, dear cousin, for my sacrifice will be but short-lived.”
“How so? I do believe that anyone accused of murdering a king’s mon is doomed to be, er, short-lived and treason brings one a most horrific death.”
Ilsabeth halted, the words murder and treason stopping her dead in the act of sneaking up on her betrothed. She had left him an hour earlier, hidden away in the woods, and then slipped back to his home to see if she could discover why he had begun to act strangely. Another woman had been her suspicion. Sir Walter Hepbourn was a virile man and had not been expending much of that virility on her. Ilsabeth had begun to suspect that he was heartily feeding his manly appetites somewhere else, and even though they were not yet wed, such faithlessness was not something she could tolerate.
Murder and treason had never crossed her mind. And the murder of a king’s man? That was treason in and of itself. The mere thought of such a crime sent chills down her spine. Why would Walter have anything to do with such crimes, or even know enough about them to speak of them?
Keeping to the shadows cast by Walter’s large stone house, Ilsabeth dropped to her belly and inched closer. Walter and his cousin David sat side by side on a large stone bench at the end of the garden Walter’s rather over-bearing mother took such pride in. Both men were drinking and enjoying the early evening, undoubtedly savoring the encroaching cool after a surprisingly hot, sunny day. It was a strange place to talk of such dark subjects as murder and treason.
“I intend to rescue my dearly betrothed, of course,” said Walter. “She will have to flee Scotland but I have a fine wee house on the coast of France in which I can keep her. Her gratitude will keep me warm for many a night.”
“Jesu, ye are nay still thinking of marrying her, are ye? T’was bad enough when she was just an Armstrong wench, but then she will be seen as the daughter of traitors.”
The shock and disgust weighting every word David spoke stung Ilsabeth’s pride like nettles but she hastily swallowed her gasp of furious outrage.
Walter gave a harsh laugh. “Still? I ne’er intended to wed her. I thought ye kenned that. She is an Armstrong, for sweet pity’s sake. M’father would spin in his grave if I tried to mix his family’s blood with that of one of those low reivers. My mother would soon join him. Nay, I but played the game. Howbeit, she is a sweet morsel and I dinnae wish to see her in her grave until I have had a wee taste.”
“Ye mean ye havenae had a wee taste yet?”
“I tried but it quickly became clear that someone taught her the value of her maidenhead.”
“Ah, weel, I had thought ye had gotten betrothed to her so that ye could take that with ease.”
“Nay, it was the best way to get close to her kinsmen, aye? I can see I erred in nay telling ye all my plans. We needed someone to bear the blame and I decided her family would serve. Now I will nay only be free of suspicion, but free of her cursed family as weel. If
I step right, I may e’en get some of their land once our angry king rids this land of them.”
“Clever. If it works. The Armstrongs being what they are, ‘tis reasonable to think all blame could easily be shifted onto their shoulders, but will it stay there? We are close to ridding ourselves of that foolish king, his sycophants, and all those who lead him where they wish him to go. We cannae afford to have any suspicion turning our way.”
“It willnae. The king’s supporters will be so busy hunting Armstrongs they willnae have time left to look anywhere else.” Walter stood up and stretched. “Come, let us go inside. The insects begin to feed upon me and we need to plan our next step most carefully. When next we meet with our compatriots, I want to be able to present a finely polished plan they will all be willing to follow.”
David moved to follow him. “I was hoping for an early night and a warm wench.”
“We will soon both enjoy those pleasures. I, too, wish to be weel rested so that I may watch those thieving Armstrongs rounded up and taken away in chains.”
Ilsabeth remained still until she was certain both men were well inside the house before she began to crawl away to the safety of the wood separating her father’s lands from Walter’s. Once within the shelter of its deep shadows, she stood up, staggered over to a tree, and emptied her belly. The sickness tore through her until her stomach hurt and her throat was raw. She then stumbled over to the next tree, slumped against it, and fumbled with the small wineskin attached to her girdle. It took several hearty rinses of her mouth as well as several deep drinks of the cool cider to clear the vile taste from her mouth; a bitter taste she knew was not wholly caused by her sickness.
“Bastard,” she whispered when what she really wanted to do was
scream the word to the heavens until her ears rang.
She had been such a fool. Beguiled by a handsome man, the thought of finally having a home of her own, and children. Walter had used her, had used her family who had welcomed him as one of their own.
Her family! Ilsabeth thought the fear that surged through her would have her retching in the bushes again, but she fought that weakness. She needed to have a clear head and to stay strong. She needed to warn her family.
With her skirts hiked up to her knees, Ilsabeth raced through the woods, desperate to reach her home. She did not know when the king’s man had been killed, what the man had been doing here, or even where the body was but instinct told her it would be found soon. From all that she had just heard she knew it was meant to be found. Worse, she was certain Walter had left behind enough evidence with the body to point the finger of blame straight at her family.
“Wait! Two, wait!”
Ilsabeth stopped so abruptly at the familiar hailing that she nearly fell on her face. Steadying herself, she turned to see her cousin Humfrey racing toward her. As she struggled to catch her breath, her scattered thoughts latched onto that hated name Two. When her eldest sister Ilsabeth, the firstborn, had become Sister Beatrice, the family had asked her if she would take the name, as her mother loved it so. Since she had not really liked her own name of Clara much, she had been more than willing. But, instead of a nice new name, all her siblings and cousins had begun to call her Two, or Twa. When Humfrey reached her side, she punched him in the arm mostly out of habit. It was odd, she thought, how such mundane thoughts and actions had helped to still the rising panic inside.
“Ye cannae go home,” he said, idly rubbing the place on his arm where she had struck him.
“I have to,” she said. “I need to warn my family of the plot against them.”
“Ye mean the one that has the king’s soldiers at the gates yelling about murder and treason?”
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