“Yes, they are,” she admitted, pausing by the one window in the room that overlooked the firth. It was raining, she realized. It was funny how the day had been a sunny one, reflecting her moments of joy, only to now weep upon the sorrowful ones. “Thank you again. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, either, or what you expected when you allowed us to stay.”
Ian joined her at the window, and Hero felt the warm heat of a comforting hand at the small of her back. “I like him, Hero.”
Hero had to smile at that. “He likes you as well.”
“You don’t have to do this all alone, my love.” Ian reached out and caressed her cheek and in an instant her worries fled only to be replaced by awareness. Hero finally noticed that he was still dressed as he had been for dinner, minus his jacket and cravat. His waistcoat was open and his shirt partially undone, allowing her a peek at the dark smooth skin beneath. His pulse was beating visibly at his throat, and Hero longed to feel the pressure of it pulsing against her lips.
Her own pulse quickened at the thought of feeling his flesh against her lips, of breathing the scent of him against his warm neck. She inhaled a shaky breath and clenched her hands tightly before her. She had missed their private moments together these past days. She had missed him.
“The color of that dressing gown reminds me of your painting. Like the dress.” His hand reached out of the darkness as he traced the back of his knuckles down the slippery silk, but still Hero couldn’t move. “Since we’re here, should we dance once again?”
There was more than a request in his words, perhaps a hint at her uncertainty. In spite of his flirtation with Daphne at the dinner table, did Ian still desire her? Prefer her? Well, Hero wanted him to want her and had to know for certain. “Are you sure it’s me you want to … dance with?”
“Good Lord, Hero,” he moaned, his arm lashing out to catch her around the waist, pulling her close. “What a fool you are!”
Hero didn’t have a chance to respond but it didn’t matter at all when Ian pulled her body against his and dipped his head to capture her lips with his. His kiss was ravenous. Far removed from the tender kisses they had shared in days past. His lips devoured hers hungrily as his arms enfolded her tightly.
Helpless against the passion that assailed her, Hero surrendered to his kiss, allowing him to part her lips, welcoming the sweep of his tongue with a low moan. She could feel his hands running up her back and clung to his shoulders, kneading his flesh as he did hers.
Ian lifted his head. “Tell me you want me, Hero,” he whispered thickly.
“Tell me you don’t want Daphne,” she whispered back, running a palm up his muscular chest until it rested over his heart. “Oh, my lord, please tell me that you feel this too! It’s so strange and wonderful—tell me I am not here alone.”
Ian put a hand over hers and dragged it to his mouth, pressing a hot kiss to her palm. “You are not alone, Hero. By God, you are not,” he growled, as if the words were being forcibly torn from him. “You have drawn me into your web since the moment I laid eyes on you, flesh and blood. Yours is a face I have seen a thousand times, yet you became real to me in that moment. I know you felt the same. You have known me in your heart always. Confess it.”
“Yes, always,” Hero complied automatically to his command, feeling the words as if they were drawn from her very soul. They wove about her an aura of desire and more. She ran her palms across his chest until she was clutching his lapels and leaning against him in a posture she had never dreamed of engaging in with any man, most certainly not one she’d known so briefly. As Ian said, however, this was a feeling of ages. They might have just met but what she felt was ancient.
“This is not the stuff of a scurrilous affair, fair Hero,” Ian continued in his deep brogue, assuring her of his interest even more. “Mock me if you must, but I feel this is the stuff of fairy tales. I’ve never believed such a thing possible and, frankly, feel a fool for confessing as much.”
“You are no fool, Lord Ayr.”
“Say my name, Hero,” Ian urged brusquely.
“Ian …”
Her chance for more words was gone but Hero didn’t care. This was what she had been waiting for. Ian’s passion unleashed. The full intensity of it was set free to be spent on her. Ian kissed her hotly once more. Hero moved with him and against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hold him tightly. Through her dressing gown and thin night rail, she could feel the heat of his body, feel the muscular planes of his chest and stomach pressed against her. Feel his thigh pressing between hers, feel his ridged length against her belly. Ian’s hand dropped to cup her bottom, pulling her even more tightly against him. His other hand cradled one breast while his thumb teased her nipple and Hero quivered with desire, her breath coming in shallow pants.
“Ian,” she moaned against his lips, “I don’t know … tell me how to please you.”
“Ye are, my Hero,” he murmured thickly, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her against him. He spun quickly and backed her against the side table, setting her down on top of it. “I’ve ne’er been more pleased.”
Grasping her ankle, Ian ran his hand up her leg. His palm was rough against her soft flesh, sending shivers of delight through her. Reaching the back of her knee, he lifted her leg and pressed himself between her thighs. His erection pressed against her throbbing core. Hero gasped, his rumbled groan echoing the sound. “Oh, yes. Ian …”
“I want ye, Hero,” he growled into her ear, and the wave of passion that sizzled through Hero’s veins left her dizzy.
The crash of glass shattered the night and the pair pulled apart in surprise.
“What was that?” Hero asked weakly, her head still spinning.
“If it’s your father, Cooper is about to be thoroughly sacked,” Ian grumbled, turning for the door. Again he was left wanting, left with the pain of passion unsatisfied. The frustration was becoming unbearable and was working on his temper. If one of Beaumont’s nurses was again slacking in their duties, a mere sacking would be the least of their worries.
“You’ll have my blessing,” she said as she pushed from the table, smoothing her dressing gown as she met him at the door. “What is it?”
“A broken lamp,” Ian said, picking up several glass pieces from the hall floor and setting them on a nearby table. The small stump of a candle lay in the middle of the pooling oil and Ian picked it up curiously, wondering how it had come to be there. There were no candlesticks in the gas-lit hall. There was no table close enough to the broken lamp that it might have simply tipped and fallen. “Someone was here.”
The thought must have unnerved Hero, since she drew her dressing gown more tightly around her. “Someone was watching us? I wonder who.”
“It might have been one of the servants,” Ian said. He glanced around, looking for signs of life around them, but all was quiet. He rolled the candlestick between his fingers once more before setting it on the table away from Hero’s notice. “Let me escort you up to your rooms.”
Ian retrieved the other oil lamp from the music room and led Hero upstairs and to her bedchamber door, where he paused. His eyes glittered with stoked desire as he looked down at her. “I’d like to join you inside.”
“I’d like that as well,” Hero admitted breathlessly.
But the creaking of wood floors echoed across the hall and Ian stiffened. “However, I think our spy needs to be discovered.”
Hero sighed and a slight smile tugged at the corner of Ian’s mouth. Reaching out, he caressed her cheek tenderly and whispered, “Believe me, sweet Hero, no one’s disappointment is greater than my own.”
“Until tomorrow then?”
“Until then.”
Hero watched Ian go, holding the lantern high. Her mind wasn’t on their spy but on him, on the passion he had kindled in her. On the desire that had caught and burned so intensely. Another shuddering sigh escaped her, her body ached with something she couldn’t define, and Hero knew it would be som
e time before sleep found her that night.
Chapter Twenty
“With the preponderance of company above, I thought I’d never get you alone today. Still, I’m not sure this is what I had in mind,” Ian grumbled as he followed Hero, who held a lantern high, lighting the way as they descended into the bowels of the dungeon beneath Dùn Cuilean.
“You’re lucky Daphne doesn’t like the dungeons, my lord,” Hero said with laughter in her voice. “Or should we return above for another round of Pass the Slipper?”
Ian rolled his eyes. “I thought it would never end.”
Hero chuckled. “Papa seemed to enjoy it.”
“His grace is easy to please, though our guests are perhaps not as accommodating,” Ian countered.
“I cannot believe neither of them heard a thing last night,” she laughed. “All that raucous music and it couldn’t be heard on the second floor?”
“Perhaps the Kennedys are heavy sleepers,” Ian shrugged. His interest wasn’t truly on his other guests at all. After searching futilely for the castle’s spy, he had spent another sleepless night awash with sexual frustration. There was nothing Ian had wanted more than to cross the hall and sneak into Hero’s chamber and make mad love to her. Barring that, her company today would have been enough, but the rain had continued into the day, leaving them trapped within the castle walls with his cousins.
Though he had angled for a way to get Hero alone, this cold dungeon wasn’t what he had in mind, but he was willing to take what he could. “Since we’re here, I am prepared for you to mesmerize me with a history lesson.”
Hero pursed her lips but Ian only laughed. “I am curious, please.”
“Very well,” Hero relented. “There are three levels of dungeons here. They were not excavated from beneath the castle but rather the castle was built on top the caves, which have been here for a thousand or more years. There was an archeologist ten or more years back who claimed that there was evidence that ancient tribes might once have inhabited them, perhaps to hide from Viking invaders. In any case, they were considered a perfect prison when the castle was first placed here.”
“I stand captivated,” Ian said, playfully tweaking her earlobe.
Smiling at his affectionate teasing, Hero stopped at one of the many doors that lined the left side of the hallway and indicated that he should enter. Ian stepped in and was immediately taken by surprise, his good-humored mocking forgotten. In astonishment, he moved toward the far end of the cell. Though the walls to his right and left were stone and mortar, the wall before him was comprised entirely of iron bars. Reaching them, Ian looked out at the Firth of Clyde. Without any wall to break against, the wind hit him with all its force, carrying with it pellets of stinging rain. Looking down, he found the rocky break at the bottom of the cliff to still be a dizzying drop below them. Shaking his head, he backed away from the reach of the rain though the air was still misty.
“Are you prepared to swallow those sarcastic words now?” Hero teased.
“Incredible,” he said truthfully.
But for the single door, there was no escape from a cell such as this. An escape through the bars provided no freedom, only a long drop to a sudden stop. The dungeons were a masterpiece of cruelty. The punishment they delivered would have, in many cases, been exponentially worse than any crime committed to gain entry. If there had been a crime at all. In the days of clan wars and territory disputes, hostages were often taken for ransom or political gain.
“This is perhaps one of the worst forms of imprisonment I can imagine,” Ian admitted. As high as they were, Ian wagered the prisoners could feel the spray from the waves crashing below even if it were not raining. Even the sunniest days would not alleviate the misery of the cold and miserable cell. In the winter or on a day like today, it would be hell. “The exposure to the elements alone would make a man suffer dearly.”
“It is a frightful thought,” Hero concurred. “I confess that when I first came down here, I imagined finding a skeleton still chained to the wall, his flesh torn away by the wind and salt.”
“A gruesome imaging for a lady,” Ian teased.
“Come, on the next level below, the caves are open to the sea,” Hero said, tugging at his hand. “It is a smuggler’s paradise, which is what these caves have been used for in the hundreds of years since they were dungeons. The access to the sea and the depths of the caves made them the perfect hiding places.”
Hero led the way once more and Ian followed, amused by her fascination with stuff so disreputable. As they descended farther into the bowels of the dungeons, the cave walls became damp and the taste of salt lingered in the air. Storage rooms lined the great center cavern. Aye, Ian could see that it was an excellent place for hiding illegal goods. “I’m surprised that with such a catacomb of caves down here, the weight of the castle didn’t simply collapse them.”
“Pillars.” Hero pointed to one of them, something Ian hadn’t noticed before, but now that they were brought to his attention, he found everywhere he looked. “They were constructed when Adam did the additions, to support the weight of the castle. But you’re right, I can’t see how it didn’t all cave in upon itself a hundred years ago.”
A short passageway descended sharply away from the cavern, and they came to a large wooden door bound in iron. Ian reached to pull it open for Hero and could not help but ask, “Why, pray tell, would there be such a sturdy door here?”
“To keep the smugglers from invading the castle, of course. No laird wants to die in his sleep from the attack of unsavories through his own cellar door,” Hero explained with a grin.
“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?” Ian asked. He couldn’t help smiling in return as he looked about the lowest level of the caves. A neat dozen inlets formed perfectly sized docking areas for dories, and there were even spots that looked big enough for a small lugger. Of course, they also looked large enough for a Viking drakkar to dock at, leaving anyone fleeing the ancient invaders sadly at their mercy, should they have been discovered. “A smuggler’s paradise, indeed. This is where you brought me then for a romantic interlude?”
“Who says I brought you down here for such a purpose?” Hero asked innocently. Ian just raised a brow until her innocent look fell into a smile. “There seems to be nowhere else where we might be without interruption.”
“My bedchamber?” he suggested. “Yours?”
Hero’s faced flooded with becoming color. “Is that the sort of interlude you’ve been anticipating, my lord?”
“Is it not what you’ve been thinking of since last night?” Ian responded in disbelief. “Come here, Hero,” he commanded, holding out his hand. She slid hers trustingly into it, and Ian pulled her into his arms. Lowering his head, he skimmed his lips across her cheek before whispering huskily in her ear, “I have wanted nothing more this day than to hold you in my arms, without interruption from the servants, Jennings, Daphne, or even, God bless him, your father. I want to be alone with you.”
“And so we are,” Hero murmured throatily, running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders.
“I can’t do all the things I’d like to down here,” he admitted regretfully. “Shall we take this time to make a list of Cuilean’s many hiding places and plan for a midnight rendezvous?”
“Mmmm,” Hero sighed, stretching against him. “That sounds lovely.”
Ian nuzzled her neck, his lips and tongue playing against her salty flesh. “You mentioned a pagoda, I think?” His lips tugged at her earlobe. “Or should it be the hunting lodge?”
“Yes, choose,” Hero murmured, sliding her fingers encouragingly into his hair and tilting her head to the side to allow him easier access. He took advantage, running his lips down her neck and nipping lightly, drawing gasps of delight from deep within her.
“I don’t know the way to either one,” Ian said, pulling away to look down at her.
Teasing the peppery gray at his temples with one finger, Hero smiled. “I’m sure Jennings could tell you
how to get there.”
“That would rather defeat the purpose, don’t you think?” Ian’s hands moved from her hips to cup her breasts, and Hero’s eyes widened in surprise before she pressed against him.
“Somewhere you know then,” she continued breathlessly, taking the initiative to imitate him by exploring him with her mouth. She ran her teeth along the tendon of his neck, glorying in his low moan. “The brewhouse?”
“How about the icehouse?” he suggested in a low murmur.
“Brrr, too cold!” she told him before she parted her lips and drew his flesh between them, sucking lightly and licking the sting away.
With a growl his fingers dove into her carefully styled coiffure, pulling her head back. His eyes were dark with desire. “I’ll keep you warm,” he promised fiercely then proceeded to show her how.
A loud clang rang through the caves, the sound of metal meeting metal, and Ian pulled away, shaking his head with disgust. “Incredible,” he said without the awe the word had held earlier. He ran his hands through his hair with palpable frustration. “What could it possibly be now?”
“Ghosts?” Hero asked, giggling when Ian shot her a dubious look. “No, truly, Cuilean is said to be haunted by several ghosts.”
Ian snorted and turned away, looking for the source of the ominous knell. Hero followed along, slipping her hand into his, and he looked down at her tenderly. “Tell me more, my little historian.”
“I think you mock me,” she accused with a pout.
I think I love you, Ian thought, barely biting back the words. “No, I am intrigued. Please continue.”
Wrinkling her nose, Hero said, “I was just going to say that Robert Burns wrote about the tales of haunting at Cuilean in his poem ‘Halloween.’”
“Is that so? Do you know it?”
“‘Upon that night, when fairies light on Cassilis Downans dance,’” Hero began, affecting a light Scottish burr, “‘or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, on sprightly coursers prance; or for Colean the route is ta’en, beneath the moon’s pale …’”
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