She fought the panic in her chest. Ian couldn't go. He couldn't leave her. "What did you tell him?" She lowered her voice, leaning in toward her husband.
"I said no, of course. I forbade him to leave Dunnane." He glanced at her, his brow furrowing. "Ye don't think I should have let him go, do you?"
Kara didn't know what to say. If Ian left, she didn't know that she would be able to bear living within these walls. Ian was her companion, her adviser, her comfort. She didn't know how it had happened, or when, but it was true.
On the other hand, if Ian left, there would be no temptation. There would be no chance she might betray her husband with another kiss... or worse.
When Kara didn't respond immediately, Harry continued. He picked up a drumstick from his plate and began to eat. "I couldn't let him go. I depend on him to help me. I still don't know what my duties are here. What I'm supposed to say. What I'm supposed to do."
Her gaze met the boy's. Harry was right; he did need Ian. And she was proud that Harry recognized it. "I think you're doing quite well, my lord." She didn't know what else to say.
"Certainly I'm doing well. For a thirteen-year-old." He gnawed on the bone. "Speaking of which, I meant to ask you about my birthday. You know my birthday is next month. I'll be fourteen."
She blinked, wondering how the conversation had changed so abruptly. "Nae. I didn't realize it."
"How do you think we should celebrate?" He spoke excitedly. "A festival? I was thinking of a festival. You could have one in my honor. Horse races, traveling musicians, a hunt, perhaps."
Kara's head was spinning. How could Harry go from discussing such a serious matter as Ian's possible departure, to birthday festivities in the same breath? She reminded herself that he was still a child in many ways. In his mind, perhaps one was just as important as the other.
But Kara wanted to draw the conversation back to Ian. She wanted to know why he wanted to go. Or at least the reason he'd given Harry. She wanted to know exactly what Ian had said. If he had dared mention her. But she didn't know how to return to the previous conversation without making it obvious.
"Well, what do you think?" Harry waited, drumstick poised in midair.
His mouth was slick with grease and she had to suppress the urge to wipe it with her napkin.
"Well, aye. Yes," Kara stammered, keeping her hand in her lap. "I think a festival is an excellent idea. But perhaps we should discuss it with Ian."
She scanned the room filled with Gordons. It was noisy and smoky. Candlelight flickered in the drafts so that it was difficult to make out who was whom on the far side of the room. Ian had not yet made his appearance; nor had Dungald.
"The preparation of the roast duck is lovely," Harry's mother said from the seat on the far side of Harry. She had been in conversation with an older man, distant kin to her deceased husband, but the man had wandered from the table.
"Thank you, Mother Anne." Kara forced a smile, then glanced around the room for Ian again. She didn't know if she wanted him here now or not. A part of her wanted to ask him why he wanted to leave. A part of her wanted to avoid him into the next century.
"I must have the recipe to take home to my kitchen in Edinburgh."
"Mother, you can't go home before my birthday. Kara's going to arrange a festival in honor of my birthday!"
"What an excellent idea!" Lady Dunnane clasped her hands. "I do love a festival. Everyone loves a spring festival."
Again Kara forced a smile. "I'm certain the cook—" Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ian enter the room. She made herself return her attention to her mother-in-law. "I'm certain the cook will give you the recipe."
"Ian!" Harry half stood and waved to his brother.
One of Harry's hounds circled Ian as he slowly made his way to the dais.
Kara couldn't take her eyes off him: his dark eyes, the way his hair fell to nearly brush his shoulders. The more she saw him, the more she wanted him. The more she reminded herself that she couldn't have him, the more she wanted him. It was lust, pure and simple, she tried to convince herself. It would pass.
"Harry, Mother." Ian nodded. "Kara. Good evening."
"Sit, sit," Harry said. "You're always late. You always miss the choicest meats."
"Only so that you may have the choicest meats," Ian answered, rounding the dais table to take his seat beside his mother.
"The magician is about to start." Harry waved his hands, glancing at Kara, who was making a point now not to look past Harry and Mother Anne at Ian. "Then I have a surprise." He laid his hand over Kara's. "A surprise you're going to love."
Harry touching her like that in public made her uncomfortable, but she didn't know what to do. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. Nor did she want his hand on hers.
"My lord," a voice called from the doorway.
Everyone looked up to see Dungald entering the great hall. And he wasn't just entering; he was making an entrance, dressed handsomely in blue and gold, his beard and hair freshly combed, still damp. He was carrying a small sack, speaking to be certain everyone heard him.
A hush fell over the room as everyone looked up with curiosity to see what Dungald was about.
"My lord, I have returned from pursuing the cattle thieves and I've a gift for you."
Harry sat back in his chair."A gift for me?" He waved his cousin forward. "Approach and tell me of those insolent reivers. Did you catch them?"
"Nae, not all of them, I fear to say. They got away, my lord." Dungald reached the dais and turned so that his back was to Kara. Now he faced the room of clansmen and the earl at the same time. "But one thief was not so fortunate."
With a great flourish Dungald shook the bag and something rolled out onto the table before Harry.
Something bloody.
Kara stared, her mind not registering what it was for a moment. Something the size of her fist, bloody, fleshy, almost heart-shaped.
Kara clamped her hand over her mouth just as she and the others in the room realized what it was.
It seemed as if everyone in the room gasped at once.
Harry stared for a moment, his eyes wide. Then he broke into a broad grin. "Saints alive!" He poked the object with his fork. "Is it real?"
For a moment Kara thought she would be ill. A heart. It was a man's heart.
"Ye killed him and cut out his heart?" Harry exclaimed, still wide-eyed.
"He would not surrender, my lord." Dungald splayed his hands as if he were an actor reciting his dramatic lines. "What else was I to do?"
Lady Dunnane made a sound on the other side of Harry, and Kara looked across the table to see her mother-in-law pressing a napkin to her mouth, as pale-faced as she felt. Lady Dunnane began to fan herself with the napkin.
Ian leaned and whispered into his mother's ear, supporting her back with one broad hand.
Kara didn't know what to say. Slowly she slid her hand from her lips, her gaze falling to the heart again. It was so offensive, and yet she couldn't take her eyes off it.
Now Harry was poking it enthusiastically, rolling it in front of his dinner plate. A dog under the table began to whine, perhaps at the smell of blood.
"A real human heart?" Harry breathed, still amazed, fascinated.
"That is obscene," Kara said, jumping to her feet "Gruesome and inhumane."
Dungald turned slowly to face her. "The reivers are stealing Dunnane's cattle, madam. Surely you know the price of this kind of thievery is death."
Kara threw down her napkin, disgusted with Dungald for doing such a horrendous thing as killing a man and cutting out his heart. At Harry for being so fascinated. At Ian for not coming to her defense and agreeing with her.
The room was abuzz with men's voices again. Shockingly, no one else seemed repulsed or even upset. Several men were actually chuckling. The Gordons were returning to their meals, their ale and their pipes, as if their earl were regularly presented with the human hearts of his enemies.
Without another word, not even to the
Lady Dunnane, Kara rushed out of the great hall.
She reached the tower steps before Ian caught up with her. Again she knew it was him without even having to turn around.
"Kara!"
She threw up one hand, starting up the winding stone steps. She was close to tears. She certainly felt nothing for the man who had committed the crime. She understood the need for swift and severe punishment. But to take his heart and make a spectacle of it? What kind of men resided beneath this roof?
But it wasn't just the heart. It was everything. Last night's kiss. Ian's request to take his leave. She felt as if her life, her emotions, were spinning out of control and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
"Leave me alone," she said over her shoulder, taking the steps as quickly as she could.
"Kara, wait, let me explain," he hollered up.
She grabbed a handful of her woolen skirt and raced faster up the steps. "Let me be. You want to rip out men's hearts? You want to go from Dunnane? Go! Go right straight to the gates of Hell, for all I care!"
Ian came up the steps after her. "Kara, listen to me. That was not a human—"
Kara turned on the curved staircase, blocking out the sound of his voice, the pounding of her footsteps. She passed the second floor, breathing heavily, tugging hard on the twisted guide rope. The stairwell was dark, but she knew her way even in the darkness. If she could just get to her chamber, she could lock the door. If she couldn't lock him out of her heart, she could at least lock him out of her room.
He caught her hand just as she reached the top of the stairs.
"Kara!"
"Let me go!" She pulled hard, but he wouldn't release her.
At the landing she threw herself against the wall. The corridor was dark too, lit only by a single candle sconce near her door.
She thought to call to Isla, who was most likely in her room, but she didn't.
Ian held tightly to her hand. "Did you hear what I said?"
She panted, winded from the run up the staircase. "I don't want to know what you said. I want you to let me be. All of you!" She turned her face away so that she wouldn't have to look at him.
"It wasn't a human heart."
It took a second for his words to sink in.
She looked at him. "What did you say?"
He loosened his grip on her wrist, but did not release her. "I said it wasn't a human heart. Dungald caught no reiver and cut out his heart. What kind of a man do you think I am that I would stand for such sacrilege?"
"But the heart. 'Twas the right size for—"
"A deer's heart." His tone lightened. "A prank."
"A prank?" She stared at him, still not certain she understood. "Dungald pretended he cut out a man's heart?"
He lifted one shoulder. "No one in the room thought it was a human heart, not after the first moment."
"No one but Harry. But me. Your mother."
"I told Mother."
"And Harry?"
"He'll figure it out in a moment or so. And even a deer's heart is fascinating to a boy his age."
Kara closed her eyes for a moment, resting the back of her head against the wall. "I don't understand. What sickness in a man would lead him to... to think this was funny? Or appropriate or... or..." She let her sentence die, too stunned for words.
"The thieves escaped. Dungald was embarrassed." Ian shrugged his broad shoulders. "Rather than just walk in and say he let the reivers go, he added a little drama to diminish his failing."
She opened her eyes to look up into his dark ones. "A little drama?"
"It worked. Harry didn't berate him in front of the men."
She shook her head. "And this makes sense to you? To bring a deer's heart and say it was a man's?"
"It makes sense," he conceded, "in a roundabout way."
She exhaled, the pounding of her heart slowing and her breath coming more easily. "Men," she said.
"Pardon?" He lifted a brow.
"Men. Mad. You're all mad." She gestured with her free hand. "All of you!"
He chuckled. "Aye. At times. That I canna disagree with."
"I live in a household of madmen!"
Now he was grinning. And he was so blessedly handsome when he smiled. His whole face lit up. His dark brown eyes sparkled. She liked it when he smiled. Loved it.
For some unknown reason she found herself smiling. Laughing with him. It was completely inappropriate and yet she couldn't stop herself.
When her laughter was spent, she gazed into his eyes. He was still holding on to her, but he had slid his hand down until his thick fingers laced through hers.
"You asked Harry to allow you to leave Dunnane." It was half question, half accusation.
He, too, sobered. "Aye."
"Why?" Her tone sharpened. "Because of me?"
"Nae." With his free hand he gently brushed her forehead. "Because of me. Because of this. Because I want you," he whispered fiercely. "And I cannot have you. Not ever. Ye understand, not ever, not even if, God forbid, something should happen to Harry."
"God forbid," she breathed, unable to tear her gaze from his. "Because you are his brother."
"The church would never allow it," he said."'Tis forbidden. You would be married off to another."
"Dungald, even." Her last words came out as a breath.
"It could be so ordered."
Lost. Hopeless. Kara wanted to speak but she was too filled with emotion to form any words. It was hopeless and yet still she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving her. Couldn't bear the thought of what might happen if he stayed. She wanted to tell him that she didn't want him to leave. She wanted to tell him he had to go.
"Harry says he has forbidden you to go," she said when she found her voice.
His gaze remained locked with hers. "Aye."
"So ye stay here... with me, with us."
He leaned over her. "Aye."
His lips were nearly close enough to kiss. She had only to lift onto her toes and they would be hers. "So what now?" she breathed.
He shook his head ever so slightly. "I do not know."
Kara took a deep, shuddering breath. He was going to kiss her again and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Nothing she could do, because she didn't want to stop him. Suddenly his mouth against hers seemed more important than the breath she drew. Certainly more important than the punishment of everlasting hell she knew was impending.
Kara pressed her hand to his chest, smoothing it upward, over his shoulder, around his neck. Like some tavern wanton, she caressed the nape of his neck and drew him closer.
When Ian captured her lips with his, the sensation was even stronger, greater than she expected. Something electrical arced between them. Something magical and, on some level, mystical. His arms slipped around her waist, his tongue between her lips, and she was powerless to resist.
"This is wrong," she whispered. But even as she exhaled the words, her tongue touched his in the enchantment of a lover's dance.
Ian pressed his hand to her waist, slid it over her bodice and brushed against the underside of her breast.
A sound came up out of her throat, something of a sigh. A moan.
He backed her up against the wall until the hard, cold stones cut into her back.
She didn't stop him.
She couldn't.
His mouth set hers on fire. His hand scorched her bare flesh as he slipped his fingers into the neckline of her bodice, beneath her linen shift, flesh against flesh.
She threaded her fingers through his thick, sweet-smelling hair. She was utterly overwhelmed by his size, his power, and yet she felt completely in control.
Their mouths parted and his wet, hot lips grazed over her chin, down her neck to the valley between her breasts.
Every nerve in Kara's body seemed to be awakening. She felt his touch where he touched her not. At her waist. Her knees. The place between her thighs that had known no man.
He's going to take me here and now in the hall and
I cannot stop him, she thought wildly. I will not.
A sound in the stairwell below jerked Kara back to her senses.
Footfalls. Someone coming fast.
Ian heard the footsteps at the very same instant. His hands fell to his sides as if he'd been burned.
"Kara! Kara are you up there?" rose a voice from below.
It was Harry. Her husband.
Kara looked up at Ian. His face was stricken with guilt, fear, perhaps not for himself, but certainly for her.
As she pulled up her shift to cover her breasts, she pointed to the end of the hall where Isla's chamber lay.
Ian's gaze met hers for one fleeting moment, and then he hurried noiselessly down the hall.
"Kara?"
"H-here," she called weakly, readjusting the woolen folds of her bodice. "Here, Harry."
A moment later he came bounding up the steps. At the same moment that he turned the corner onto the landing, Ian disappeared into Isla's chamber.
She stood with her back against the wall, still feeling the heat of Ian's hand on her breast.
"Please come back," Harry said, halting before her. "I want you to see the magic tricks." He lowered his gaze, suddenly seeming shy. "I'm sorry about the heart. It wasn't really a man's heart, you know."
"I know," she whispered, not yet ready to trust her voice. She brushed her mouth with the back of her hand as if she could wipe away the feel of Ian's mouth against hers, the taste of him.
Harry worked his jaw. "Will ye come? Please? It won't be a celebration without you."
Guilt washed over Kara. She couldn't meet his wishful gaze. "I'll come," she said.
When Harry offered her his hand to lead her downstairs, she took it.
Chapter 11
Isla stared at Ian. Ian stared back.
She glanced at the doorway that led from her servant's chamber into the hall. He glanced at it.
He could hear Harry talking to Kara, but he couldn't make out what his brother was saying. Maybe because his heart was pounding too fiercely.
Their conversation was short; he heard them descend the stairs.
Only then did Ian move toward the door, away from Kara's maid, who seemed neither uncomfortable nor overly surprised by his sudden intrusion into her tiny, private chamber.
Highland Bride Page 10
