She crossed her arms over her protruding belly, almost as if she waited for an explanation. There was something about the look on the girl's face that made him think he actually owed her one.
"Harry," he said, pointing toward the door.
She nodded. Waited.
"Kara. She... I..." He was at a loss for words, confused by what had just happened. He had sworn to himself he wouldn't kiss her again, and this time he had both kissed her and touched her. He just couldn't stop himself. Even now he could still taste her sweet mouth on his. He could still feel the warmth of her breast in his hand.
So now what? He was so confused by his feelings. He loved her. He knew it as surely as knew his own name. But he loved Harry, too. And his duty was to Harry first, wasn't it?
Ian balled his hands into fists at his sides. He wanted to shout something, anything, to release his frustration. Maybe hit something, even someone. But his hands just hung lamely at his sides. He pointed again.
The girl's mouth slowly turned upward in a smile of obvious amusement. "My lady sent you here?"
He nodded.
She studied him thoughtfully. "Is it true what they say of ye?" she asked, finally breaking the silence of the small room.
"And what is that?"
"That you have killed Englishmen with your bare hands? That ye could face a regiment and still come walking home? That ye have?"
"Exaggerations," he said simply, wondering at her point.
She nodded as if his explanation was satisfactory. "Let me check the stairwell, then, and see that it's safe to pass below."
He stepped out of her way, deciding his best choice of discourse was just to not say anything at all. At this moment it would be the least incriminating.
Isla went down the dark hallway and entered the stairwell. She came up the stairs minutes later. "It's safe to pass. They've returned to the great hall."
Ian hurried past her. At the top of the stairs, he halted and turned back.
Isla stood in her doorway, hand poised on one hip.
"Tell your mistress..."
"Aye?" She lifted one brow.
She was a saucy wench. Tell her what? he thought. Tell her I love her? Tell her we're doomed?
The serving girl waited patiently, so patiently that he found her irritating. She looked so smug. As if she could possibly understand what was between him and her mistress. What could not be between them.
"Never mind." He hurried down the winding stone stairs and pretended not to hear her retort.
"Men..."
The word echoed in his head all the way down the tower stairs.
* * *
Harry made a deep, exaggerated bow, first to the dais; then he turned and faced the hall and his men and bowed again.
They clapped their hands, stomped their feet, and struck their goblets on the wooden tables scattered throughout the hall.
Harry's face was flushed with pleased self-consciousness as he rose and tucked a purple scarf into his sleeve with a flourish. "So you liked it?" He turned to the raised head table, speaking both to Kara and his mother at the same time. "Bet you didn't realize I could do magic."
Kara attempted a smile.
She had returned to the great hall with Harry because she didn't know what else to do. If she had remained upstairs and sent him away with an excuse of a headache or women's ailments, she knew what would have happened. She would have led Ian into her bedchamber, locked the door, and made love to him on Harry's bed. Nothing could have stopped her. Nothing but coming downstairs.
"Wonderful!" Anne Gordon clapped her hands. "I'm so impressed, son. I never knew you were such an expert at sleight of hand."
"Which one did you like better, Kara?" Harry leaned on the table, still grinning broadly. "The card trick or the disappearing duck egg?"
Kara took a sip of wine to delay answering him, to delay coming up with a reasonable response. To delay any thinking at all.
To her surprise she found the wine unwatered and strong and a little bitter to her tongue. She wondered what servant had neglected his or her duty.
Kara knew she shouldn't drink the wine like this, not on an empty stomach, for she hadn't touched her meal. The strong drink would hinder her thinking, but to think was the last thing she wanted to do right now. She didn't want to think about Ian, or about Harry, or about the dreadfully tangled web she now found herself in.
She took another drink.
Musicians struck their first notes, tuning their instruments. Momentarily music would begin. Beyond Harry, clansmen were moving tables to make room for dancing.
"Which trick?" Harry insisted.
"I... the cards," she said as her gaze strayed to the hall's entrance. She wondered where Ian was. Had Isla been in her room when he slipped in? What had the girl said? Done? She prayed he hadn't frightened her. He could be frightening to those who didn't realize how gentle a man he really was. "Aye, the cards. 'Twas my favorite."
A maidservant moved unobtrusively behind Kara, picking up dirty plates, clearing the table, and serving more wine. Kara thought she recalled that the girl's name was Meg.
"I was thinking of hiring the magician to stay on and teach me a few more tricks. I fancy myself as being quite good, had I the opportunity," he said proudly. "What do you think?"
Her mouth was dry. She drained the pewter goblet and made no protest when Meg refilled her vessel.
The serving girl took Lady Dunnane's plate, then moved on to Harry's. At his lordship's place, she hesitated.
"He's done," Anne said pleasantly. "You can take it, child."
Harry frowned. "I am not done! I want another tart." Meg dropped the plate with a clatter.
The Earl of Dunnane turned to his mother. "How dare you say I'm done when I'm not. How dare you tell my servant when to take my plate. I'm lord around here now and I say when my plate shall be taken!"
Anne glanced at her son in puzzlement "Harry—"
"I'm sick to death of people making decisions for me," he said too loudly. "I am the lord here and I will make my own decisions. I will decide when I'm done eating!"
Harry was so busy with his self-absorbed temper tantrum that he was unaware that many of his men were staring at him. They whispered. Some smiled with amusement.
Kara was embarrassed for Harry, for his mother. And she was angry with her husband. Where was Harry's sense of respect? Surely his mother and father had taught him better behavior. What man could be respected who showed no respect where it was due?
She pushed the heels of her hands against the table and rose suddenly. The wine had made her warm from the inside out. "Would you like to dance, my lord?" she asked, tight-lipped.
He looked at her in surprise. "Dance?"
"The first set has begun." She gestured to the musicians, who had struck up a Scottish country tune from the Lowlands.
His young brow furrowed. "I thought you said you didn't like to dance."
"That was another evening, my lord." She stared at him hard. "I would like to dance now."
His mouth dropped open, then flapped shut. "Of course, of course, wife." He held out his hand.
"My lady." Kara bobbed a quick curtsy to her mother-in-law, who sat still, apparently perplexed by what had just passed between her and her son.
"Go, go," she shooed. "You young people should enjoy yourselves and each other. I need not be coddled."
Kara rounded the dais to accept Harry's hand. The moment they faced each other and Kara was certain no one could hear them, she unleashed her disapproval. "What on God's green earth has gotten into you, Harailt James Gordon?"
He blinked.
She turned in his hand, still able to follow the complicated dance steps despite the strong wine she'd consumed. It hadn't made her drunk, only bold. "Your mother does not deserve to be treated thusly and I will not stand for it." As she spoke, she kept a slight smile on her face for appearance's sake.
"I... well, she... she..." he stuttered.
"You wa
nt to be treated like a man? Respected for your position? Then it's time you begin acting like a man!"
Harry worked his jaw up and down as if he wanted to say something, but no words came forth.
"That woman carried you in her womb for ten moons. She pained to give you life. She fed you on her breast, she caught you when you fell taking your first steps." Kara drew nose-to-nose with him. "She wiped your soiled bottom, Harry."
He swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to—"
"I'm certain you didn't." She lifted her skirt and danced around him. The minute they were face-to-face again, she picked up where she left off. "My suggestion to you would be that you apologize to your dear mother, offer to dance with her, and spend the remainder of the evening seeing to her. She says she need not be coddled. I suggest you coddle her."
At this point Harry was so astonished by her diatribe that he could say nothing. Do nothing but copy her dance steps.
"She wants to see you succeed, Harry. Show her you are the man she and your father prayed you would be." Kara released his hand abruptly and started for the door.
"Where are you going, Kara?" Harry ran after her.
"To my chambers." She kept her tone low. "To move my belongings to the center room. The doorway is nearly cut. We can pass easily back and forth."
His hands fell to his sides in bewilderment. "You're not going to sleep with me anymore?"
"Nae. No one will know but us." She met his gaze in challenge. "But I think it best, at least for now. Don't you?"
He bit his lower lip. "Aye. Yes. Whatever you think. Do... do you wish me to escort you upstairs?"
"Nae. Tell your mother my head aches and I've gone to bed. Make my apologies and see to her. There's no need for you to retire early."
"Of course." He clasped his hands. "Good night. I... I hope you feel better."
Kara left the great hall, her cloak fluttering. She didn't know what had possessed her to tell Harry that she could no longer sleep with him. She would have liked to have blamed the wine, but she knew better. She had left Harry's bed because she knew in her heart where her relationship with Ian was leading. The wine had only given her the courage to admit it to herself.
* * *
Ordinarily Ian would take one of the horses from the stables into the village, especially so late at night. But a man who wanted to be inconspicuous did not ride one of the master's horses through a cottagers' square. He walked quickly, quietly, past thatched-roof, single-family dwellings and the occasional lean-to shed. Light shone through some of the cottage windows, but few. A dog barked occasionally. He heard the bleats of sheep, once the neigh of a horse, but for the most part the village of Dunnane was peaceful.
Ian halted at a cottage door, and the scrawny brown dog that lay across the threshold tilted its head and gave a low growl. Ian made a sound and offered a tidbit of meat and biscuit from his pocket. Leftovers from the supper he had eaten standing up in the kitchen.
He gave the dog a friendly scratch behind the ear and then tapped on the plank door. Lamplight shone from the tiny window near the door.
She was waiting for him.
He didn't have to knock again. The door opened and, taking a quick look up and down the deserted road, he slipped inside.
"I brought ye some cheese and sugar." He set a brown sack on the table that sported a single straight-backed chair. "Some ale and a little peppermint."
The dark-haired widow, Ruthie, brushed her hand across his shoulders as she walked behind him. She picked up the sack with interest and peered inside. "Ye be a good man, Ian."
"It's cheese, Ruth, nae gold coin."
She walked to a dry sink, where she began to empty the sack on the sideboard. "And 'tis a good thing, because were it coin I'd toss ye out on your handsome arse." She grinned over her shoulder.
Ian settled in the chair with a sigh. Tucking his hands behind his head, he watched her pull one gift after another out of the bag. He liked to see her smile.
Ruthie was a beautiful woman with inky dark hair that fell in waves over her shoulders and down her full, pale breasts when he undressed her on her rope bed. She had a tiny waist that had never borne children, but shapely hips and thighs. And her lips always appeared berry-swollen to him, as if she'd been eating wild strawberries in a meadow. Kissable lips.
She hummed to herself as she put away the food, her hips swaying slightly to and fro, her skirt brushing her ankles in a way that once would have tantalized him.
Her task complete, she walked back to his chair and rested her hands on his shoulders. She kneaded the knotted muscles, and he let his eyes drift shut with a groan.
"Ye be sullen tonight."
"I am not sullen."
"Pouting?" she teased.
"Men do not pout."
She laughed, digging her fingers deep into his flesh, massaging, rubbing, and releasing his tension.
"Fancy that."
"Enough of your female wit," he growled. "I'm not in the mood tonight."
Again she chuckled. She was not intimidated. Couldn't be. That was one of the reasons he liked Ruthie. She could not be frightened or bullied. She knew what he was and what he was not and accepted him at face value. He liked Ruthie because she liked him for who he was, not what he could do for her. Not even when it came to her sheets.
"Want to talk about it?" she questioned softly.
"Nae!" Again he spoke more sharply than he intended, and the moment the word came out of his mouth, he regretted it.
She was silent.
He let a minute pass. "I'm sorry. My head is full to cracking." He brought his hands to his temples and pressed hard. He could almost feel the tension building, swelling, threatening to burst in his head.
"I've a couple tricks to relieve that pain," she said. Her tone was coy, but she was not a tease. She came around the chair and sat on his lap.
He lowered his hands to rest them comfortably on her waist. That was Ruthie. Warm, comfortable, sensual.
He leaned forward to rest his face between the valley of her breasts. She always smelled clean, though a little of the wool she spun.
Ordinarily he would have nuzzled her breasts; he would have sought a brown nipple with his mouth. He was disappointed to realize that tonight he wasn't interested. Not in her breasts, at least.
He thought of the scent of Kara's hair, the feel of her small, firm breast in his palm.
Ruthie brushed her lips across his forehead.
He did not lift his head to meet her lips with his.
She cradled his head with her hands, ran her fingers through his hair. But it didn't feel the same as Kara's touch. Didn't feel as good. Not as right.
Ian sighed.
Ruthie lifted her head, let her hands fall to her sides. "Ye didn't come in the mood for lovin' tonight, darlin'?" It wasn't an accusation. He was thankful her tone was kind.
He, too, let his hands fall. He would not pretend what he did not feel. He respected the widow too much. "I don't know why I came."
She got off his lap. "Our boy-lord wearing on ye?"
Ian covered his face with his palms. It wasn't the boy who was wearing on him. It was the boy's wife. He couldn't tell Ruthie that, of course. No one could know his secret. No doubt Isla was already suspicious. He could let it go no further than that.
"Harry is bright. His heart is good. He'll grow into his seat."
Ruthie backed up and leaned against the table to face him. She crossed her arms over her breasts. "And the wife? I have heard the boy seems infatuated with her. That against all wagers, the marriage has taken."
Ruthie's comment struck Ian wrong and he glanced away. He didn't want his little brother to be infatuated with Kara. He wanted her all to himself. He knew the thought was preposterous, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to share her, not with anyone, not even her husband.
"The adjustment has been difficult for her, but she is managing," he said carefully.
Ruthie moved to the kitchen sideboard and opened one
of the bottles of ale. She poured half into a pottery cup. "They say she is very beautiful, with baskets of red, rippling hair and a rosy mouth. They say, very wise, a good judge of character and the law." She pushed the cup into his hand. "Better than the earl."
Ian drank. "He is young, but his heart is in the right place. He will do what is right for Dunnane."
"Ye sound as if ye've spoken that speech more than once." She tipped the dusty ale bottle to her lips. "Keep saying it and perhaps even ye will believe it in time."
Ian frowned. Finishing the cup, he pushed it onto the table and rose. "I shouldn't have come tonight. I'm preoccupied. I'm sorry."
She smiled, still leaning against the table. "Do ye wish to tell me who the woman is or not?"
He couldn't meet her gaze. Was he a man so easily read? That could be dangerous.
"Nae?" She raised a shoulder in a shrug."'Tis all right, Ian. I knew ye'd not warm my bed forever."
He walked toward the door. "It's not you, Ruthie."
"I know," she said warmly.
He halted at the door and turned to her. "Thank you."
"For what?" Her dark eyes sparkled but they were nothing in comparison to Kara's.
"Listening."
She chuckled. "It's not hard. Ye don't say much." She opened the door for him. "I hope ye figure it out, Ian, because you'd make a woman a damned fine husband."
He kissed her on the cheek and stepped into the cool night air. "Good night, Ruth."
"Night, Ian, love. Good health, good life."
"Good health, good life." He gave a wave and disappeared into the shadows of the cottages.
* * *
Coins jingled in a sack. "This be not the amount we agreed upon," a rich, burred voice accused.
Dungald pressed his back to the stone wall, holding up his candle. He hated these catacombs. They were dark and cold and rodent-infested. But they served his needs well. In a copse of trees west of the castle was an opening that had once led into the bowels of the old castle built before Dunnane. Now it served as a clandestine entrance to the catacombs beneath the present structure. He never had to pass through the gates to meet with the men he hired.
"Give me time. I'll have the rest."
"Ye'll have the rest or ye'll have a blade to yer throat."
Highland Bride Page 11
