The instant the monkey's paws hit the cold water, it shrieked again. Harry jumped. Ian laughed.
The monkey scrambled wildly, splashing Ian and Harry with cold water. Harry shrieked louder than the monkey. Laughing hysterically, both men attempted to hold the animal partially underwater so that Ian could scrub it with Kara's soap.
"Hold him!" Ian shouted.
Harry turned his head away and the monkey splashed harder, shrieking like a wounded woman.
"Easy. Easy." Ian scrubbed the monkey's back vigorously.
"Ouch!" Harry hollered and let go of the monkey.
The monkey fell into the fountain and shot up out of the water, startling Harry. Harry lost his balance, half turned, and fell back into the fountain, squealing as he hit the cold water.
James raced across the grass, hollering in monkey talk all the way to the gate.
"What happened?" Ian called, laughing at the sight of Harry lying on his back in the fountain.
"The little turd bit me." Harry held up his thumb and then stuck it in his mouth.
When Ian didn't stop laughing, Harry splashed him, soaking what was still dry of his linen shirt.
"Fine. Wet your big brother." Ian reached over and shoved Harry's head underwater.
The moment he let go, Harry sputtered up, spitting water, laughing. Before Ian could back up, Harry caught his arm and knocked him off balance, and Ian tumbled into the fountain atop his brother.
As he surfaced, Ian thought he heard a feminine voice from a window above. He shoved his brother. "Ouch! I hit my head on the bottom." He groaned.
"Shame ye have such a fat head." Harry laughed and shoved him backward.
"What in heaven's name are you two doing?" Kara called, leaning out the window three stories above them. "You're making enough noise to wake the dead."
Harry and Ian, side by side on their backs in their mother's fountain, waved up at Kara.
"Good even," Ian called, still laughing.
"Evening, wife," Harry followed.
"What are you doing?" Kara repeated, staring down at them. Her tone was most definitely not approving.
"Nothing," Ian proclaimed innocently.
Harry sniggered. "Nothing, dear."
They heard the paneled window shutter slam shut. Both men sat up looking at each other and burst into guffaws of laughter again.
"Soap, brother?" Ian grabbed the bar as it floated by, getting a handful of leaves with it.
"Thank you, brother." Harry then proceeded to scrub himself with Kara's soap, over his clothes.
"Hey, toss me the bar," Ian called.
Kara appeared in the garden just as they were rinsing off. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Why, washing James," Harry said innocently.
Ian slapped the water. "Damn. I knew we lost something." He glanced around. "Where's the little beast gone?"
Kara folded her arms over her chest. She was wearing a night robe, but Ian guessed she had nothing on beneath it. He knew for a fact that she liked to sleep naked. He wondered if he could will the gown from her shoulders if he stared hard enough. It was certainly worth a try.
"When I opened the yett, a small, wet, furry creature burst through. I think he was headed for the hall."
"Oh, good. I wouldn't want him to catch the ague."
Harry sat up, tried to throw one foot over the edge of the fountain, and fell back in.
Ian laughed and pushed him upright again.
"You two are drunk," Kara accused.
The two brothers looked at each other. "Nae," they insisted in comic unison.
She stomped over to the fountain. "I thought you might be hurt." She gestured. "That something was wrong. And here you're swimming in your mother's fountain."
Harry gripped the side of the fountain and attempted to heave himself over the side. Succeeding, he fell into the dying grass. "Not swimming, the water's too shallow for swimming."
"Oh!" Kara exhaled in exasperation. "Have you no sense whatsoever?" She glared at Ian. "And you!" she accused.
He touched his breast, making no attempt to exit the fountain. "Me?" he said virtuously.
"You, at least, Ian Munroe, ought to know better."
Harry rolled in the grass, laughing and kicking and holding his sides."'You, at least, Ian Munroe, ought to know better,'" he mimicked.
With a grunt of exasperation, Kara spun around and strode out of the garden.
Ian knew he was in trouble, big trouble.
He spread his arms wide and fell back into the water with a great splash, submerging himself. He remained underwater until she was gone.
Chapter 20
The man's voice came out of the cold darkness. "They're all drunk now and lying about the hall, I should guess. Ye want us to do it now and get it over with?"
Dungald pressed his back to the damp stone wall of the catacomb beneath the castle. "Nae," he snapped, holding up his candle to be certain there were no rats in his vicinity. "I told ye! I will not be hurried. This must be well planned, not obvious."
"Not obvious." The man whose face was shadowed sniggered. "When does a man die untimely and another inherit that it is not obvious someone has aided his own cause?"
Dungald scowled. "I told ye. Keep your two pence philosophies to yerself! I pay ye to act, not think."
"Which brings us to the matter at hand."
Dungald thought he heard something behind him and turned. Rats? Ghosts? He shuddered. Christ's bones, he hated this darkness. "I told ye, I haven't the coin yet."
"Ye promised payment regularly. Hiring men to do yer dirty work means paying them. I intend to retire on yer compensation."
"I know what I promised," Dungald spit "An' ye shall get your money and then some. I merely do not have the coin tonight."
The man drew his dirk from his belt and began to shave at his thumbnail. The light off the candle glistened off the blade, making Dungald uneasy.
"There... there shall be something extra for ye, of course."
"Of course," the man said. "But ye know this is not my usual game. The cost will be extra and it will be steep."
Dungald lifted the candle again, thinking of spiders. Did spiders live this far underground? He hated spiders almost as much as he hated rats. When he became the earl of Dunnane he would have these catacombs filled in. "I will pay you what you ask."
"Ye don't understand; it's not for me." The man in the shadows flicked his thumbnail toward the damp dirt at Dungald's feet. "It's for the men. The men I must hire. They don't come cheap, you know."
"When my plan comes to fruition, ye will need no men of your own. There will be plenty in this shire willing to raise arms. And once my plans succeed, I will be a powerful man. There is much I can do for you."
"Do for me?" the man growled. "What makes you think I would want ye to do anything for me? I am not interested in yer power, only yer coin. I told ye that from the beginning." He flashed the dirk. "I want no part of the rest. In truth, it disgusts me."
"I am taking what is rightfully mine," Dungald said instantly. He reached out with one hand, but when it trembled, he drew it back. He did not want the man to see his weakness.
"Whatever ye say, 'tis not my concern. My only concern is my payment. My men's payment. We've mouths to feed, debts of our own to pay."
"And you'll have yer bloody payment." Dungald lifted the candlestand to cast light on the man's face. "Now be gone with you!"
"Well enough. I'll be gone. But I'll be back for my money." He lifted the blade and turned it, purposefully reflecting bands of light off the smooth, shiny surface. "I'll be back for me money, or back for you."
* * *
"Move over."
"No," Kara mumbled sleepily, snuggling deeper beneath her woolen counterpane.
"Kara, move over, love. It's cold and I am bare-arsed naked."
Kara stubbornly refused to slide over in her bed. Who was he to think he could behave so childishly and then come for a quick tumble in her bed?<
br />
"You're drunk."
"I am not. I was a little silly earlier, I admit, but not drunk."
He didn't sound drunk. His voice was warm, breathy. Sensual. Still, she didn't want to give in too easily. He shouldn't have let Harry get drunk. Ian shouldn't have taken him swimming in the fountain in the cold of winter. "Ye shouldn't be here," she said begrudgingly. "Harry—"
"Harry is passed out, dead to the world. Ye'll not see him until noon tomorrow."
She kept her eyes closed, torn between wanting Ian in her bed and wanting him to know how annoyed she was with him. "I told you I don't want drunken men in my bed," she whispered.
"Good, then I shan't invite any." He pushed her over and slid under the blankets in one quick motion.
Kara rolled to the far side, not wanting to surrender all at once, though she knew she would. She needed Ian too badly. Wanted him too badly to ever send him from her bed. Even drunk, wet, and with the monkey under his arm, she believed she would have welcomed him. "You're cold," she complained.
"I told ye I was." He reached out to pull her into his arms and she didn't resist. "That's why I wanted to be in your bed, my countess."
"Don't call me that, and if you die of the ague"—she snuggled against him—"it will be no fault but your own."
He brushed his mouth across her forehead. "Now that's a pleasant thought."
She settled her head on his shoulder. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, carrying on like that. And in your mother's fountain. Your mother would be appalled."
He chuckled. "My mother would probably be pleased to think I had shared in a little fun with my brother."
He was right, she knew he was right, but she didn't want to let him off so easily. After all, if he was trying to encourage Harry to act mature, he shouldn't be swimming in a fountain in late October. He shouldn't have been swimming in a fountain at all. "A grown man," she muttered.
He was already growing warm, his body radiating heat that she craved.
"Well," she said, still cool, but warming up to him, "I hope you at least saw him dried off and put to bed with something warm in his stomach."
Ian's hand glanced over her arm, down her bare hip. "Harry and the monkey," he whispered, nuzzling her neck.
She couldn't resist a chuckle... something akin to a purr. "You really shouldn't be here. It must be very late."
"Close to three. You're right; I shouldn't be here." He kissed her collarbone, his tongue tickling her skin. "But I couldn't help myself. I was in Harry's chamber, peeling off his stockings, thinking of you only a door away. Thinking of this."
She ran her hand over his muscular biceps. "You took off his stockings?"
"I told ye, he was asleep. I couldn't put my little brother to bed with wet stockings, now could I?"
Kara rolled over to face him in the narrow bed, pressing her groin to his. She could already feel him hot and hard against her. She could already feel herself growing damp for want of him.
"Nae, I don't suppose you could have."
Ian kissed the hollow of her throat and she tilted her head back, her eyes drifting shut. "This is wicked," she whispered. "You're wicked to make me feel this way, to make me want to feel this way."
He rolled her onto her back, cradling her with one strong arm. With the other he drew teasing circles with his fingertips, starting between her breasts, wandering lower....
"Not wicked, my love. Never wicked. Ye and I, we were meant for each other. Yours and Harry's marriage was a mere mistake, an error in fate. Ye were meant to marry me. To be mine and I yours for all eternity."
Kara slid her hands over his bare shoulders, arching her back as his hand grazed her belly.
It was still flat and taut, but how soon before it began to swell? Kara thought she should tell Ian what she suspected, tell him now. He would be so angry that she had not told him right away. But she wasn't ready to tell him. She wasn't ready to deal with their choices. Because they had no choices. In her heart, she knew she and Ian could never flee, and yet she also knew that here he could never claim their child. This would be Harry's baby. There was no choice. Harry would have to be told, and what his reaction would be, she couldn't imagine. That was why she wasn't ready to tell Harry, because she wasn't ready to give up Ian's claim to her child. For just a short time longer she wanted to imagine him as the father.
She couldn't deal with this now, nae, not now. Now she wanted to touch and be touched.
"An error in fate?" she whispered.
His hand skimmed lower and her thoughts began to jumble. She let her eyes drift shut again, awash in sensation. His rough fingerpads awakened every nerve in her body, leaving her shivering with desire for him.
"I... I thought ye did not believe in fate," she said.
He kissed her lips gently. "Open your eyes."
She gazed into his dark pupils, reflecting the firelight from the hearth. She remembered his dark brown eyes from the first night he had come to her wedding chamber. Had it been only six months ago? It seemed six hundred. Looking back now, she thought she probably loved Ian Munroe from that very first night when he had treated her with such respect, when he coddled poor, frightened Harry.
"I believe in true love," Ian murmured, holding her gaze. "I believe in God Almighty and His belief in true love. His desire for us to love, perhaps even His need. That's what I believe in. God will see us through this. It's what we must believe."
She didn't want to think right now, not about their woes. "Tell me you love me," Kara murmured.
"I love ye."
She smiled. "How much?"
He brushed the hair from her forehead in a gentle caress. "I love ye as the sea loves the salt, as the earth loves the rain."
She relaxed under him. "Ye should have been a poet."
He chuckled, bringing his mouth to hers. "Ye say ye love me?" he questioned.
She smiled up at him, reveling in the feel of his weight pressing her into the goose-down tick. "Aye, I love ye, Munroe."
He grasped her hand and guided it behind him, lowering it to his bare lower back. "Then show me, hinny, show me before the light of day shines through yonder window and sends me from your arms."
Kara wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and raised her lips to his. Their tongues met, danced. He slid down, dragging the tip of his tongue over her chin, down her neck. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand and lowered his mouth. She moaned as he caught her nipple between his teeth and gently tugged.
"So sweet, hinny," he murmured. "So beautiful."
She caught a handful of his still-damp hair and arched her back, unconsciously rising and falling to meet his groin. He teased one nipple into a taut brown peak and then the other. He kissed the valley between her breasts, her navel, and moved lower still.
She dug her nails into his back. "Ian..."
"Shhh," he soothed. "Have ye somewhere to be? Bread to bake, clothes to stitch? Let a man take his time. Enjoy his pleasures."
She relaxed against the pillows. He was right. They had so little time together. They should enjoy every delicious moment of it.
Ian kissed her stomach, sliding his mouth lower. As he met the bed of red curls between her thighs she cried out in amazement. Each time he touched her this way she was shocked anew by the sheer pleasure of his warm breath.
He flicked the tip of his tongue. She writhed beneath him.
Already she could feel the waves building up inside her, threatening to crash. A part of her strained to reach the crest, while a part of her wanted to extend the tortured ecstasy forever.
It was so wonderful to feel so loved. All those years in her father's house Kara had never been anything but chattel. Now, forevermore, no matter what happened, she would know she had been someone's most prized, most loved.
Ian continued to stroke her, to carry her closer to the edge. She panted, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. Suddenly it was so hot in the room that she had to toss the blanket aside. His was such delicious torture
that she resisted the building tide, wanting it to last longer. Of course she couldn't resist for long; she never could.
With little warning, the pleasure hit her hard, washing over her, sending her tossing, turning....
"Ian!" she whispered, grasping him as her muscles contracted, released and contracted again.
"Kara, sweet Kara."
He rested his head on her stomach and waited for the tide to subside, for her heart to slow to a reasonable pounding.
"I don't know how you do that," she whispered, still panting, not knowing if she wanted to laugh or cry. She loved him so fiercely.
He pressed a kiss between her breasts. "You sound tired. Want to sleep?"
"In your arms?" She nuzzled his neck. "Always." She slid her hand down over his flat, muscular stomach, then lower. "But not yet," she whispered huskily.
He chuckled, too, his voice warm, enveloping. "Now this is wicked." He gasped as she closed her fingers around him.
She smiled in the darkness, delighting in the feel of his hot, hard, silky flesh at her fingertips. It was true that he could make her cry out in pleasure, but she had learned in the last months that she could do the same for him. While stroking him with one hand, she caressed his broad chest with the other. The sleek, hard muscles of his body fascinated her.
Ian sighed. He moaned.
She smiled in the darkness. "Shhh," she hushed. "Ye'll wake the entire household."
"Me?" His voice was throaty and filled with desire for her. "It is you who cause me to cry aloud."
She laughed deep in her throat, secretly pleased that she could reciprocate the pleasure he gave so freely to her.
"What do ye want, wench?" he whispered.
She rubbed his hard, male nipple. "You know," she breathed.
"Tell me."
She whispered in his ear.
He chuckled. "Wicked, wicked woman."
"But I want to try atop."
His mouth grazed hers. "Do ye, now?"
"You'll show me how?"
He grasped her hips as she slid over him. "But of course."
But Kara needed no guidance. Making love to Ian came as naturally to her as cradling Isla's baby, as cradling her own would be.
Highland Bride Page 20
