Chapter 8
Daylight was failing over Kara's left shoulder as she rode behind Ian up the hill to the castle ruins. "How beautiful," she breathed, reining in to take full advantage of the better view.
Only half the stone curtain wall of the thirteenth-century castle remained; two of its four lofty towers had crumbled to the ground. The massive granite walls were jagged in places, blackened by smoke and weathered by time. The enormous structure stood as merely a shell of what it must have once been. Still, it was a spectacle of grace and power against the backdrop of dusk.
"What strength this fortress must once have possessed," she mused quietly, fearing the sound of her voice would somehow lessen the castle's nobility.
"Aye." Ian's voice was strangely reverent as well. "I thought the same myself when first I laid eyes upon her. She is called Barclay. Some say she was once held by clansmen to Robert the Bruce. Her size and fortitude were once said to be rivaled by none but the Bruce's own castle, Kildrummy, up the road a piece."
Kara could hear Isla and Harry chattering away as they came up the path behind them. Lost in their conversation, they took no notice of the beauty of the castle ruins.
"We'll sleep here tonight?" she asked. She was no longer angry with Ian, only weary and eager to dismount and stretch her tired legs.
"Aye. From the top of the hill we can hear and see anyone who approaches. The walls will offer some shelter from the winds."
"Do you expect our men?"
"Nae. If Dungald has not returned by now, he's still on the chase. I gave him orders to rendezvous at Dunnane on the morrow. At dawn's first light we'll head home, for surely there are those who worry for his lordship's safety."
Kara clamped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, no, your mother. She's arrived at Dunnane with no one to greet her but Harry's hounds."
He smiled lazily. "Have no fear; our dear mother is probably sitting before the fire in the great hall as we speak, eating and drinking our finest port."
Kara hunched her shoulders and shivered. "Don't say fire. I'm chilled as it is."
He whipped off his woolen cloak with one smooth motion.
"No, it's all right. I'll be warm soon enough."
Ignoring her protest, he backed his mount and laid his mantle gently over her shoulders. "Nonsense. Surely you don't think your husband will offer his."
Kara wanted to protest. It was unseemly for her to be wearing her brother-in-law's cloak. But it was so warm. And it smelled so good, of hickory smoke and him. She lowered her gaze. "Thank you."
Isla and Harry overtook them on the path that led upward to the castle's dry moat. "God's teeth! Look at the size of that gatehouse," Harry said, still riding behind Isla. "Can we explore it?"
"Aye." Ian nodded. "But take care with your footing. It will grow dark soon, and I've no desire to fetch your broken body from the dungeon below."
Harry grimaced. "Gads, you worry too much, brother."
"I'll keep an eye on him for ye, mistress," Isla said as the two rode by.
The young girl winked and Kara smiled.
"They seem to have taken to each other," Kara remarked as she and Ian started up the hill again, at a pace slower than Isla's. "I'm surprised. I would think his lordship and a pregnant serving woman would not have much in common."
He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Aye, but remember they're much closer in age." He glanced at her when he said it, his face lined with regret. "I did not mean to say—"
She lifted her brow, amused. "That I was an old crone in my husband's eyes?" She laughed merrily, waving one hand. "I know exactly what you meant. I take no offense. It's true enough. There is too great an age span between us presently. You know it and I know it." She watched Harry and Isla dismount at the imposing gatehouse. "And my guess is that he knows it, too. He's just trying to be gracious, now that he's burdened with me."
Ian sighed heavily. "I sometimes question the wisdom of my father."
"'Twas pure politics. The Gordons and my father's family have been marrying for hundreds of years. We're said to be good breeders." She chuckled, her tone dry. "Little good that will do either of us anytime soon."
Kara was surprised when he made no response to her joke. A moment ago he had seemed to be enjoying their conversation. Now he was suddenly silent, hunched over his mount as if she had said something wrong. Ian didn't seem to be a man of proprieties, but perhaps she had crossed the line with him this time. But how could she know, if he didn't say?
And men said women were moody.
Kara frowned as a full minute passed and still he spoke not a word. "I think I'll find a good place to start a fire," she finally said, choosing not to question him over his sudden change in humor. Maybe it was better that he remained distant from her, anyway. Distant was safe.
"Isla packed some bread and cheese and apples," she continued, "though I don't know what Harry expects us to roast. He brought nothing but a tin whistle." She trotted her horse past Ian, through the gatehouse, into the courtyard. Her horse's footfall fell hollowly over the ancient cobblestones.
She glanced over her shoulder at Ian but he did not meet her gaze. "I'll call you when we've a fire and something to eat."
He nodded but did not speak, his face shadowed by the deteriorated ceilings that yawned over their heads some three stories into the darkening sky.
Kara turned away, shaking her head at the vagaries of men.
* * *
"I believe that was one of the best meals I've had since returning to Dunnane," Harry declared, lying back on Ian's bedroll as he patted his stomach.
After their arrival at Barclay, Ian had surveyed the area, making sure they were alone. Then he had ridden off toward a copse of trees half a mile from the castle gatehouse. Less than an hour later, he had returned with three partridges on a string, a feast for hungry travelers.
Isla had cleaned the partridges and set them to roast over the open fire Kara had built against a wall in the area that must have once been the great hall. By the time the sun fully set and they were surrounded by velvet darkness, the birds were cooked and they were supping on poultry, bread and cheese.
Kara finished the last of a piece of partridge and tossed the bones into the fire. She accepted the water bag Isla offered. "Thank you for thinking to bring the food," she told the girl. "Remind me not to go anywhere without your clever practicality."
The girl spread out her own bedroll on the far side of the fire from Harry. "Can you play us a tune, your lordship?" She eyed Ian. "Unless ye think it unwise. I wouldn't want to draw unwanted attention."
Ian rose from where he crouched by the fire. "There's no one for miles."
Harry sat up, pulling his whistle from inside his cloak. Isla drew closer to the fire to watch him through the dancing flames. "Do play then, my lord. Your skills are quite good."
If Kara hadn't known better, she would have thought Isla was smitten with her husband. Not that she cared as long as no proprieties were broken. If Isla was keeping Harry busy, he wasn't getting into trouble.
Kara washed her hands with a tiny bit of water from the bag. "I think I'll walk a bit before I retire," she said, strolling out of the ring of light.
She was not ten steps from the fire when she heard someone behind her. She didn't have to look back to know who it was. She crossed the center of the open courtyard and walked toward a trio of lancet windows that had earlier caught her eye.
Ian followed quietly. Kara halted directly below the three windows, their glass long gone, but their majesty still intact. She could hear Harry's whistle behind her, faint on the night air. "A chapel?"
Ian came to stand beside her. She felt a heavy warmth fall over her shoulders as he again placed his cloak over her.
"Aye. She was such a magnificent edifice that she held her own church. Men could lay siege against Barclay for fortnights, yet she was so self-contained that it was naught but a slight annoyance."
Kara stared up at the oval windows. A tall one in t
he center reached twenty-five feet over her head, flanked by two shorter ones. "This has to be one of the most peaceful, most beautiful places I have ever been." She turned to him. "Thank you for bringing me."
"I knew ye would like it." His voice was gentle, yet still filled with the strength of his masculinity. "I confess that's partly why we came. We probably could have made it home safely."
"Ian?"
"Aye?"
"Why did you become angry with me tonight? When I made the jest about children?"
He paused.
Kara knew from experience that this was difficult for a man. She waited patiently.
"Not angry. Not with you. Not ever."
She breathed deeply. This conversation was too intimate. She needed to take a step back. She needed to change the subject to something less personal. She was another man's wife.
Yet she couldn't.
"No?" she asked. "You acted as if you were angry."
He reached out to catch a tiny braid that had fallen from the loop of braids she wore down her back.
Kara's breath caught in her throat. Ian shouldn't touch her like this. She shouldn't let him.
But she wanted him to touch her.
"It..." Ian struggled to speak his thoughts.
She waited.
"It angers me to think my father and your father gave you to a boy." He held fast to her braid, twisting it around his finger as if he could somehow possess it. "You deserve a man, Kara." His voice was strange, tight, full of emotion.
She felt her chest tighten. She had never evoked such sentiment in a man before.
"You deserve a man who can love you as you deserve to be loved. A man who can give you children."
Kara had no time to think. She felt Ian's breath warm on her lips. The next thing she knew, he was leaning over her, drawing her into arms that seemed all-encompassing. She tilted her head, mesmerized by the scent of him, by his power, by the atmosphere within the castle ruins.
Kara was shocked by the warmth of Ian's lips, shocked by her own desperate need to feel his mouth against hers.
This is wrong. A sin... The words pulsed in her mind. But she couldn't stop herself, not any more than she could prevent the English from invading her beloved Scotland, or prevent the sun from rising each morning.
"Kara." He breathed her name against her lips like a chant. A prayer.
She wanted to pull away. Run.
She pressed her body against his, drawn to his warmth, his strength. She parted her lips. No man's tongue had ever passed between them, and yet she opened, beckoning.
He tasted fresh. Hot. Powerful. Yet in no way did he make her feel as if he overpowered her. She kissed him of her own free will. She touched her tongue to his, glided it along his even, smooth teeth.
Kara's pulse raced. Her heart pounded. She was breathless, growing dizzy for want of air. Yet she couldn't bear to end this kiss. Not when she knew this intimacy could never, ever be shared again.
The castle wall spun around her. The sound of her husband's tin whistle faded. Kara reached up to thread her fingers through Ian's rich, silky, dark hair, wanting more of him. Needing more.
It was Ian who broke the kiss.
He breathed her name again. She clung to him, breathless, still dizzy, in an utter state of confusion.
He smoothed her hair with one big hand as she rested her cheek on his broad chest. She could hear his heart pounding, its pace matching her own heart's.
As she caught her breath a heavy sense of loss overcame her. The kiss she had shared with Ian was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened. Yet it could never happen again.
"Ian," she whispered. She did not look up, for fear she couldn't resist his mouth again.
"Aye?"
His voice sounded in her head, almost as if it were her own voice.
"Ian, I should not have—"
"I'm sorry." His breath was still short, ragged like her own. They spoke in unison.
"I don't know what came over me."
"I had no right."
They said all the right things and yet he still held her tightly in his arms. She made no attempt to move away.
Kara began to tremble. She was afraid for herself, for Ian. To kiss another man not her husband was a sin. Yet how could anything so glorious be sinful? How could her loving God deem anything so perfect a sin?
She wanted to move away, but her legs were still weak.
"It won't happen again," he whispered, his warm breath on her ear.
"Nae." She looked up at him, his dark eyes reflecting the moon's light, just rising in the night sky. "Not again."
But he lowered his mouth again, and she was unable—or unwilling—to protest.
This kiss was not one of passion or desperation. It was a kiss of regret, of sorrow for what could never be.
He brushed his mouth lightly against hers and she yearned to part her lips, but she resisted. If she didn't resist now, she might not be able to. If she didn't resist, if he laid his cloak out for her here at the foot of the chapel windows she might lie with him. She might make love to him and then surely their souls would both be doomed.
"Go back to the fire," he said gently.
As he lowered his arms, she wanted to cry. She had never felt so safe, so loved, so alive.
She wrapped his cloak tightly around her shoulders and ran toward the campfire, leaving the only man she knew she would ever love.
* * *
"Where have you been?" Harry jumped up as Kara entered the ring of firelight. "I was worried about you. Where's Ian?"
"I... I only went for a walk," she said shakily.
"I thought I heard wolves," he said, a tremor in his voice. "I don't like wolves."
"You're safe enough, Harry. They're a mile off, in the hills."
Ian remained just outside the firelight, making a conscious effort to keep his tone even and unrevealing.
He had wanted to remain at the foot of the chapel window longer, to collect himself and his thoughts. But he wanted more to see Kara in the firelight. To see the expression on her face. He feared she hated him now, and that he couldn't bear.
Ian didn't know what had come over him. He had fantasized about kissing her, but he had certainly never intended to do so. He hadn't meant to do it until he was already in motion, until she was tipping her mouth up to his, looking into his eyes.
Kara was right, of course. It was wrong. She was his brother's wife. A married woman. To cuckold his own brother would be the worst of crimes. Not only could a dalliance with his sister-in-law put Kara in danger, but also Harry's position. Dunnane could not stand such scandal now, with Harry still so young and vulnerable.
Ian knew all this to be fact and yet still he had not been able to stop himself. And the kiss had been better than he imagined. Her lips had been sweeter, her tongue more tantalizing. Ian had kissed many women, but never had anyone given so freely of herself, of her very soul.
"A mile away?" Harry peered into the darkness. "You certain?"
Ian tried to concentrate. He tried not to look at Kara. Her face was flushed, her eyes downcast. The serving girl was watching her carefully. Did she know, with some woman's intuition, that something had passed between them?
"I'm certain," Ian said, trying hard not to be short with his brother in a moment when he had no tolerance for his childish fears. "We leave early in the morn. It's best you get some sleep now."
As he spoke, Ian watched Kara walk around the fire and lower herself to the bedroll between her maid and her husband.
Her husband. Even the word angered him.
Ian loved Kara; he knew he loved her. But naught could be changed.
He turned away from the fire. "I'll keep watch. Sleep, all of you." He strode off.
If he loved Kara there was only one thing he could do. Once he returned his brother safely to the walls of Dunnane he would ask permission to take his leave. The only way to save his soul, the souls of all the men and women at Dunnane, was to go far
from the Lady Dunnane, while he was still able.
Chapter 9
"Why do I have to go now?" Harry whined.
Kara and Harry entered the castle through the guarded yett. They had made good time this morning returning to Dunnane, encountering no adversity. It was not yet noon.
"You must greet your mother before retiring to your bedchamber," Kara said beneath her breath so the Scotsman at the gate would not hear her. "Because she is your mother and deserves that respect."
"And what of respect for me?" Harry muttered under his breath. He halted, crossing his arms over his chest, his voice growing louder. "I'm supposed to be the earl around here. This is supposed to be my castle."
Kara massaged her temples with her thumb and forefinger. Her head was pounding and her nerves were on edge. She was not in the mood to deal with Harry this morning. She had too much on her mind.
She'd barely spoken to Ian since their kiss last night, and then only in a perfunctory manner. But she'd not stopped thinking about him, not for a moment. She was so confused. She was Harry's wife. She felt responsible for him, felt a duty to him, and yet her heart called in another direction. Her heart yearned for Ian, and she knew at the moment as surely as she knew her name that Harry would never have her love. Not that kind of love, no matter how mature, how handsome he grew to be.
So what was she to do?
"Harry, your mother will hear us," she said softly.
"Oh, all right. Have it your way." He scuffed his boot on the flagstone, letting his arms drop to his sides. "I'll go speak with Mother, but you have to go, too. Otherwise she'll be asking me all kinds of intimate questions I don't want to answer."
The tone of Harry's voice drew her from her own concerns. He was saying he needed her. How could she not go? It was odd how they had been married such a short time, and in such circumstances, and yet she still felt a devotion to him. But it was the devotion of a big sister, perhaps even a mother. Not the devotion of a wife. "I'll go with you," she conceded, "though I look a fright." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Your mother will think you've married a crone."
Highland Bride Page 8
