Anne pressed an herbal compress to Harry's bare leg, thrust from his green kilt, and he flinched and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, she asked softly, "Would ye like to sup in our chamber tonight? In private. There ye could rest in your bed and be more comfortable."
"Ye'll stay with me?" His blue eyes searched hers. "Stay until I go to sleep?" he whispered.
Kara lowered her forehead to rest it on the back of Harry's hand. "Whatever it is ye wish, my lord."
* * *
Kara hummed softly, her cheek pressed to Harry's pillow, her body stretched in the bed beside his.
Harry's breath came evenly. He was asleep.
Careful not to wake him, she slipped out of bed. She was still fully clothed.
Once Harry's wound was cleaned and bandaged properly, Kara had had her husband carried to his chamber. She had ordered a light supper and she and Harry ate it picnic-style in the great bed they had once shared. Then she helped him into his nightshirt, read to him, and tucked the woolen blankets beneath his chin. At his request she lay beside him until he drifted off to sleep.
Kara moved quietly about the room, cleaning up the supper dishes. She had dismissed Isla. The girl had done enough work for one day, and she was, after all, far gone with child.
Kara felt drained. After she had seen for herself that Harry's wound was not terribly serious, she had wanted to speak to Ian privately. She wanted to apologize. But she hadn't found a chance in the hall, and then when the men brought Harry upstairs, Ian had not accompanied them.
The dishes stacked on a tray by the door, the fire stoked and the candles put out, there was nothing left for Kara to do in Harry's chamber. She wandered into her own, then Isla's, where candlelight still burned. The girl sat up in bed stitching a tiny gown.
Kara leaned on the doorjamb that did not yet have a door. The workers were building the doors that would go in each of the doorways that had been recently cut into the walls.
Isla glanced up. "Ye look tired, mistress."
Kara smiled. "Probably not as tired as I feel."
"His lordship?"
"Sleeping. I think he'll be fine."
Isla took another stitch and looked up at Kara again. "If ye were to lay in your bed, my lady, sleep might find ye."
Kara smiled. "I'm too jittery to sleep just yet."
Isla bowed her head. "Ye were awful angry with Master Ian. Ye know, he didn't mean to hurt young Harry."
Ordinarily it wouldn't have been appropriate for a serving girl to refer to her lord in such a familiar manner, but between the two women, when they were alone, it just seemed right.
"I know he didn't, Isla. I handled myself poorly."
"Ye were distraught over your husband."
"I was angry with Ian."
"Fer duelin'?"
Kara closed her eyes. "For being alive, I think."
"Ye know, he sometimes walks the parapet this time of night."
Kara opened her eyes. "What did ye say?"
"Master Ian. I seen him going up the tower stairs. He passes this floor. Goes all the way up to the old parapet. Girls in the kitchen say he probably howls at the moon." She grinned.
Kara smiled. "I suppose I could go up and apologize."
"Ye'd be alone," Isla offered.
Kara's gaze narrowed. She was aware that the girl knew there was something between her and Ian, but she did not know how much she knew. Still, she trusted her. "What are you saying, Isla?"
"Not saying a thing ye didn't hear." She shrugged. "Only that Master Ian be alone. Ye could... talk alone."
Kara ran a hand through her hair. Much of it had come undone from the tortoiseshell pins and hung over her shoulders. She knew she must look a sight.
"I'll keep an eye on his lordship. Listen for him."
Kara stared at her leather slippers peeking from her skirts. Did she dare go above with Ian... alone?
But she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep without making things right between them. She had spoken harshly and out of turn. She owed him an apology. He was right; she did know him better than to think he would ever intentionally harm or allow anyone else to harm Harry.
Isla climbed out of bed. She wore one of her mistress's old sleeping gowns, which swept the floor as she walked. "Take yer cloak, mistress; it's windy above."
Her woolen mantle thrown over her shoulders, Kara walked slowly up the tower steps toward the door that led out onto the parapet. She carried no candle, but she knew the staircase well enough by now to find sure footing with each step.
At the top she pushed open the heavy door. Cold wind struck her as she stepped out onto the parapet four and a half stories above ground level. A flag bearing the Dunnane colors flapped somewhere out of view.
She closed the door behind her and turned to study the dark horizon.
She immediately spotted a hulking, dark form illuminated by moonlight. Ian.
Chapter 13
He didn't turn as she approached behind him. "Ye should not be here," he said sharply.
"'Tis my home now, too." She stood beside him and leaned on the wall, not daring to look at him. "Mine more than yours, if ye have no wish to mince words."
He made a sound in his throat.
"I came to apologize."
"How is he?"
She pressed her bare hands to the waist-high stone wall that kept her from tumbling to her death. The stones were cold, rough on her palms. "Harry is fine." She glanced at him, then into the dark abyss again. "Did you hear what I said? I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you today."
"I heard ye."
She sighed. He wasn't going to make this easy. "I was scared, Ian. When I heard Harry had been injured, all I could think of was that he could die."
"Ye came running."
She wondered what he meant by that observation. "Aye. I came running. But I would have done the same had it been you or Isla."
"Ye came running because you love him." His tone had become flat and intentionally devoid of any emotion.
"Aye," she answered firmly. "I do love him."
He was silent.
She could see only the silhouette of his face, so she couldn't make out any expression. He was wearing a calf-length cloak that was dark and formless and made him seem even taller, broader than he was—not a man anyone would want to encounter on a dark night.
"Ye should go," he said quietly.
It occurred to her what he meant about her running to Harry's side. "I don't wish to go. I want to stay here with you."
"I will not come between a man and his wife."
She almost smiled. He was jealous. He thought she meant that she loved Harry in a romantic way. Didn't the man understand how many ways a woman could love?
She slid her hand across the top of the wall to cover his larger hand. "I am a woman of age and of sound mind. I have a right to make my own choices." She smiled wryly. "Choose my own sins."
"I don't understand you, woman."
She turned to him to stand so close that she could feel the warmth of his body. "I think ye do."
He groaned as he turned to her, as if he were battling some invisible spirit. His conscience, she guessed.
"Kara, do ye understand what ye say?" He spoke in anguish. "What it would mean?"
"I love Harry." She spoke quietly but adamantly. "But only as a sister loves a brother. I have already made up my mind that I will not sleep with him as a wife sleeps with her husband. Not ever."
"He will grow," Ian said lamely. He still did not touch her. Did not look at her.
She stared at his face, close enough that she could see the inner turmoil reflected in the tightness of his lips, the squint of his eyes, the hard lines around his mouth.
"It doesn't matter. In my mind, he will always be a boy."
"I could not share you." He lifted his gaze. "Ye understand that? Not with anyone. Not even my brother."
"No more than I could share you." She took both his hands in hers
, lacing their fingers. She felt as if she were standing atop the wall, about to jump. "Yet I can see no way to divorce or to annul."
He was quiet, listening.
"Nae," she whispered, amazed that the two of them could stand here and discuss the matter so logically. "I must remain married to Harry until death comes to one of us. And if he should die, I would be married to another." She paused. "Ian, I can give you my heart... my body, but never my hand."
"'Twould be dangerous. If Harry discovers—if anyone discovers the truth, ye could be tossed in the dungeon. I would be hanged."
She stepped closer, pressing her chest to his. His open cloak fell around her, enveloping her. "What is more worth risk than love?"
"Aye, what indeed?" he breathed as he swept down, taking her mouth with his.
Their lips met so abruptly that he took her breath away. She clung to him, shocked by the fierceness of her desire for him. Their tongues met, hot and wet, tangling, thrusting. She molded her hips to his and he drew her even closer. Inside his cloak the two became one. "Not here," he groaned. "I will not make love to you here. Not like this. I want us to have time. I want to see you, to touch you. To hold ye."
"Nae," she agreed, kissing his cheek, his ear, the side of his neck. "Not here." His words made sense somewhere in the back of her mind, but her desire for him was suddenly so desperate that had he said the word, she would have stepped out of her skirts here in the cold darkness and given herself to him on his spread cloak.
"Where can we go?" She sucked in a breath of cold air, her heart pounding. "Harry sleeps, but my chambers have yet to gain a door."
His hands brushed her waist, her breasts, burning a trail of heat through her layers of undergarments and Dunnane plaid.
"We should wait. Think," he breathed hot in her ear. "Be certain this is what we want."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting on her toes to look him in the eyes. "It's what I want if you want it."
He groaned and kissed her again. "Ye do not know how long I have dreamed of you. Dreamed of taking you in my arms, to my bed. You are on my mind so greatly that I have begun to fear I would perish without you."
She laughed, her voice husky with passion. His words were a song in her ear. And not for one moment did she doubt him. Ian was a man of few words, but when he spoke she knew she could believe him.
"Where?" she repeated. "Where can we go? Your chamber?"
He shook his head. "It's dangerous, so close to Dungald's."
"I'll come to you, quiet as a mouse."
He pushed away the hair that had blown in her face. "Kara, hinny, are ye certain this is what you want? We take this path and there is no turning back. No matter what the courts or my brother say, you will be mine, forever. Ye understand?"
She squeezed his hand and let go of it, then walked away. "Wait for me," she whispered. "And I will come to you."
* * *
Kara crept down the velvety dark corridor without the assistance of a candle. Ian slept in the south wing, where some of the other single men of Dunnane resided. Somewhere along the length of hall was Dungald's room, but she didn't know which. She knew only Ian's. Third door on the left.
Though spring had come to the Highlands, it was still cold at night and she was thankful she had thought to wear a light cloak. The hallway was drafty, eerie, but she pressed on.
After meeting Ian on the parapet she had returned to her rooms. She had checked on Harry and Isla and found both sleeping. Then in her own room she had brushed out her hair, washed her face and brushed her teeth, and changed into a sleeping gown. She chose the one she liked the best.
Kara waited more than an hour before leaving the safety of her room to be certain all in the castle had retired for the night. It was after midnight. As she'd waited before her fireplace, her hands clasped, she had been nervous. It had been her chance to change her mind. But she knew in her heart that she would never love another man as she loved Ian. She would not turn away this chance at a few moments of happiness. She didn't know where her future lay, but at least she would know that she had this love, if only once. If only tonight.
Now, reaching Ian's room, she was nervous again. But not about having made the right decision. She was nervous about making love. He said he wanted her so desperately that he had dreamed of her. What if she wasn't what he had imagined? What if she couldn't live up to his expectations? She had no experience at lovemaking. She had little experience at kissing.
She was tempted to turn and run.
The door creaked open.
"Kara?"
Step in or run? Last chance.
Kara slipped into his room and pushed the door shut with the heel of her slipper.
Ian's room was illuminated softly with candlelight. It was a tiny chamber, sparse, clean and utilitarian, seeming hardly fit for an earl's brother. There was a small stone fireplace, a narrow wooden bed, a table and one chair. It looked like a room Ian would sleep in. No mess. No fuss. But it smelled good. Like lavender. His special touch.
"Wine?" he asked her.
Before she could answer, he pushed a goblet into her hands. She didn't need the wine—she was already dizzy—but she drank anyway.
Ian stood in front of her and drank from his own cup. He had stripped down to his kilt and a linen shirt, barefoot without his stockings. He looked like a husband just about to turn in for the night. At least he looked the way she had imagined a husband would appear. Harry still wore those silly sleeping gowns and a cap on his head.
"Ye don't have to stay if ye don't want to," Ian said, walking three steps to the fireplace.
She came to stand beside him. She was bubbling inside. Anxious, fearful, joyful. "I want to stay."
He slipped his hand around her waist as they both stared into the flames on the hearth. This all seemed so natural to her, the two of them alone late at night in private chambers. Him touching her casually, in a loving way. This was how she had once imagined marriage.
Ian took her goblet from her hand, setting both goblets on the narrow mantel, then drew her into his embrace. He gazed into her eyes, brushing away the hair that fell over her cheek. "Before I make love to ye, hinny, I must make a vow."
She shook her head adamantly. "I ask for no promises. Only the truth." She studied his dark eyes that seemed to penetrate her very soul. "Do ye love me, Ian Munroe?"
He took her hand and pressed it to his breast. She could feel his heart pounding.
"I love ye as the eastern sky loves the sunrise," he murmured, "as the western sky loves the sunset."
Her lower lip trembled and she felt the burn of tears in her eyes. Tears of happiness, mingled with sorrow. "That's all I ask of ye."
"'Tis not enough." He held her hand firmly to his pounding heart. "I vow to love ye, protect ye, honor ye whilst I live in this world, as well as the next." He took her hands in his and kissed them. Then her lips.
At that moment she knew she was the happiest woman who breathed.
"I love ye, Kara," he whispered in her ear. "Always, forever."
"I love ye," she returned.
His mouth met hers again, this time with greater insistence. Her tears dried as the burning in her middle began to spread outward, seeping through her limbs. His mouth set hers on fire. He tasted so strong, so confident. How could she not be confident of herself?
He pushed her cloak from her shoulders and it fell in a puddle at her feet.
Locked in his embrace, he kept her from swaying as her knees grew weak. He drew his hand up her thigh, over her hip, her waist, taking his time, burning a path of desire with every passing moment.
He skimmed his palm over her abdomen and she inhaled, awash in the sensation. The fabric of her clothing seemed not to deter his touch but to invite it. As he brought his hand up under her breast she let out a strangled sigh. His thumb found the bud of her nipple and she groaned. All the while he was kissing her, his tongue stroking hers.
"Will ye come to my bed?" he whispered.
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Again he was asking. Again he was giving her the chance to change her mind.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth to his. She would not turn away now, not if Satan himself were breathing down her neck. Maybe he was, but she didn't care.
"Aye," she whispered. "Your bed."
To her surprise he lifted her into his arms. She smiled up at him. Perhaps it was foolish of her, a romantic notion, but she was flattered that he would lift her, carry her.
She rested her cheek on his shoulder as he took her the short distance to his bed. He lowered her slowly, gently, never taking his gaze from her for a moment. He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her foot and removed her slipper. He stroked the instep of her bare foot and she sighed with contentment. He removed the other slipper, tossing it to the floor.
Ian stretched out beside her and took her in one arm, rolling her toward him so that they faced each other. He stroked her arm, her waist, and the rise of her hip. He nibbled on her lower lip, her earlobe.
Kara's breath came faster. She could feel her blood racing in her veins. Her heart was pounding, her entire body quaking, yearning.
He slipped his hand under her gown and she sighed, then groaned. His hand was big, so warm. As he stroked her bare flesh he left behind shivers of delight.
Never in Kara's wildest dreams had she imagined making love would be like this. All she knew of the union between a man and a woman was of duty. Of tolerance. Why had all the women in her life failed to tell her the truth?
Growing more confident of herself as Ian whispered sweet words of encouragement in her ear, Kara dared to put out a hand to touch him. At first she just stroked his chest through the linen of his shirt. He half sat up and skinned it off his back. He lay beside her again, his chest bare and such a wonder that she could not resist touching... kissing.
The hair that fanned between his breasts and narrowed to a line disappearing beneath his kilt was almost black, soft, springy beneath her fingertips. To her amazement, his nipple hardened as she brushed it with her fingertip. At first she touched him only gingerly, to see what his reaction would be. But his groan of pleasure made her bolder.
Ian drew her gown up slowly, baring first her calves, then her thighs, then higher. The air in the small room was warm and felt liquid as it glided over her flesh.
Highland Bride Page 13
