by Amanda Scott
Her lips were warm and soft. He had not expected her to respond so swiftly or with such ardor and wondered briefly if she might be more experienced than he had guessed. He doubted that any man had held her so closely before though, unless one counted that contemptible scoundrel Francis Dalcross, and clearly, that experience had not dampened her passion. Just then, he did not care a whit for the whys of her behavior. He wanted to kiss her, to explore her supple body with his hands. A voice inside his head whispered that he was a villain and no mistake and there would be dire consequences, but the lass was willing and he wanted her.
A lesser man would simply scoop her into his arms, carry her to the bed, and slake his passion with her. Her Giorsal would not return until morning, so a lesser man could enjoy a fine night if the lass remained willing.
Her thin nightdress concealed little of her slender, gently curved body. He wanted to touch her bare skin, to see if the skin of her belly and hips was as smooth as that of her cheeks and throat. The warning voice in his head muttered again.
Holding her easily in the curve of one arm, he let his free hand move to cup one soft breast and touched its nipple with his thumb.
She gasped but did not try to pull away. Still, that single little intake of air was enough. She thought of him as being only half real, he knew, and thus unlike any true gentleman, but in spite of that perception, or because of it, the lass trusted him. That trust represented something of a burden, too, and one that he had not experienced before. His previous experience had been solely with ladies as sophisticated in the arts of love as he was himself.
He moved his hand from her breast to the curve of her waist, but he allowed his kisses to become more demanding. He did not want to stop tasting her.
Bab melted against him. She did not want to think about what she was doing, or heed the potential consequences. She just wanted to enjoy the feelings coursing through her. He was warm and tender, and his kisses stirred her more than she had imagined kisses could stir any woman. The few stolen ones she had enjoyed in the past were as nothing to his.
No one had ever held her so closely before or taken such liberties as he took with her. Certainly, no man had ever touched her body in the same possessive way. Why if Patrick should find out…? Although she pushed the thought away, she reminded herself that she should be resistant, even shocked. Instead of following her own dictates, however, she wished he had not stopped caressing her breast.
Both of his hands moved from her shoulders to her waist and then to her buttocks, cupping them through her thin bedgown and pulling her body closer to his. Even then, she did not protest. She was certain she could trust him, for he had saved her from Francis Dalcross’s evil intentions. He would not betray her now.
He held her so tightly against him that she could feel his body stir against hers, and she was hugging him now, too. His sword belt pressed against her ribs hard enough to leave marks, but the thought that it might be marking her was less distressing than the sure knowledge that any marks would fade before the room would be light enough again to see them.
One of his hands moved to caress her cheek, and she heard him groan deep in his throat. Then both hands gripped her shoulders again, and he gave her one last kiss before holding her away to look into her eyes. That look penetrated deep, and she could not summon words to speak. Her lips parted, but she could only stare silently back at him.
“I must go,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse.
“No.” The word leaped out, and she had an impulse to snatch it back lest it make him think less of her. But one could not snatch spoken words from the air, and in any event, the plain truth was that she did not want him to go.
“ ’Tis the hardest thing I have ever done, sweetheart,” he said as if he echoed her thoughts. “Yet I must if you are to retain your virtue and I my self-respect.”
“But—”
“I’ll tuck you in first,” he interjected, scooping her into his arms.
She put hers around his neck, and a memory stirred from deep within of her father picking her up so and carrying her to her bed in the same manner.
The thought made her blink back sudden tears, tears that had not welled up to surprise her so in nearly a year, although before that, from the day she had learned of Sir Gilchrist MacRae’s death while fighting beside the present Laird of Kintail’s father, she had only to think about him to shed tears for his loss.
Her feelings now were different. It was as if the sense of security she had always felt when her father carried her had returned, shaking her emotions but only for a moment. She rested her head against the Fox’s shoulder, and when he laid her upon her bed and gently drew the covers up to her chin, she smiled and murmured, “Will you come back soon?”
Without answering the question, he bent and kissed her cheek, murmuring, “I’ll shut the bed curtains, sweetheart.”
“No, don’t,” she said. “I like to watch the firelight.”
He nodded, then strode to the window and disappeared between the curtains. A breeze furled them as he thrust the shutter open, and then came silence.
Leaping from the bed, Bab hurried to look out the window, but when she did, she saw only darkness. The night was moonless and cloudy, so it took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the thick darkness after the fire’s glow in the bedchamber. Hearing a slight sound from above, she wondered if it were possible that he had climbed to the roof, but then she heard the cooing of a night bird and decided that that was what she had heard before.
Closing the shutter and climbing back into bed, she lay for a long time watching the firelight play with shadows in the room and letting her imagination dance with them. At last, though, she slept and did not waken until Giorsal entered the next morning to open the curtains and shutters to a new, sun-laden morning.
Full of energy, Bab dressed quickly and went downstairs to the hall where she took an apple from the table and hurried out to the stables. Running the chief stableman to earth, she asked him to have someone saddle a horse for her.
“His lordship didna say nowt about saddling nae horses this morning, mistress,” the man replied brusquely.
Chapter 7
You know perfectly well that I am his lordship’s guest,” Bab said to the stable man with a friendly smile. “You must have seen me ride out yesterday with Sir Alex and Alasdair Mackinnon.”
“Aye, but that were yesterday, mistress, afore witches was flying, and wi’ Sir Alex, too. This be another day and didna nae one say nowt about nae horses.”
Suppressing the indignation that arose in the face of this bland but stubborn attitude, she said, “I do not mean to ride far, but I am accustomed to taking morning exercise. Every morning,” she added bluntly.
“His lordship doesna hold wi’ womenfolk riding out alone, mistress, and since they do say Beltane witches and Sionnach Dubh was all riding last night—”
“The Fox would not hurt me,” she said instantly.
“Nay, then, he would not,” the man agreed. “Did he no rescue three lads what were taken up by the sheriff’s villainous son only yestereve for nae more than celebrating Beltane wi’ the others, and did the Fox no set them free again?”
“Did he, indeed?”
“Aye, and that Francis Dalcross did search for him throughout the night, but he didna catch him, nor anyone else, come to that, since he and his men wasted their efforts a-searching for the Fox. The sheriff dinna hold wi’ Beltane, saying it be a heathen festival and no approved by the Kirk, which be foolishness since Beltane been part o’ our lives here since time began. Some say Sionnach Dubh be nobbut an outlaw, but I’m thinking it be just as well he took a hand in that business.”
Though she was delighted to think that the Fox trusted her not to betray him to Francis Dalcross or anyone else, Bab kept her voice carefully even as she said, “I am sure that the Fox is a good man, so his being in the area can be no danger to me. As to Beltane witches, why, Beltane is over, and all witches fly by night.”
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br /> “Nay, then, mistress, ’tis no the Fox nor the witches that concern us, nor anyone but the sheriff’s lads.”
“Then send a pair of gillies with me,” Bab suggested. “I am sure that arrangement would meet with his lordship’s approval.”
“I canna do it without he orders it, mistress.”
“Then I shall go and ask him,” Bab said, fighting for patience.
“Likely, he’ll still be abed, mistress, for her ladyship did say as nae one were to waken him betimes. He should get his rest, she said.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll just speak to Sir Alex then.”
“Aye, that would be the thing to do, that would,” the man agreed. “Likely he’ll be up and about in an hour or two, and ye can fix it wi’ him then.”
“An hour or two!”
“Aye, for he doesna show his face till ten or later, most days.”
“But yesterday he was up quite early.”
“Aye, and ye could ha’ knocked me down wi’ a willow wand when I saw that. Told me missus ye must ha’ lit a fire in his bed to stir him out so early.”
“I see,” Bab said, giving up for the moment but intending to put the matter to Lord Chisholm at the earliest opportunity.
Unfortunately, that opportunity did not arise until much later in the morning, and when it did, she could not call it a successful venture. His lordship said vaguely that he was sure Alex would be happy to escort her again but then warned her sternly that it was dangerous for a woman to ride out alone.
“I could not reconcile it with my conscience if aught should happen to you through my carelessness, mistress,” he said. “Your mother and Sir Patrick expect me to keep you safe whilst you remain at Dundreggan.”
Resigned to the inevitable, she spent yet another hour waiting for Alex to descend from his bedchamber. He did so at last, however, dressed in an elegant pale blue and silver doublet and matching hose. She knew he was partial to blue, since he had often worn it at Stirling, and the shade he had chosen today seemed to have been selected to match his eyes without the sun to aid their brilliance. The outfit was not one that any gentleman would wear to ride out into the rugged glen.
Responding to his greeting with a frustrated grimace, she said, “Do you always lie abed until the day is nearly over and then dress like a courtier?”
His eyebrows rose. “It is not even noon yet, mistress. I rarely arise so early as this. Surely, you did not mistake that outrageous hour yesterday for my habit!”
“I would like to ride,” she said, striving to keep her tone civil.
“Certainly,” he said. “Ah… have you broached this subject to my mother?”
“I have not,” she said. “You know perfectly well that she does not enjoy such exercise unless she must, and then she plods along.”
“Then I’ll have to take you,” he said. “My father has just informed me that he is sending a running gilly to Fort William, so I must write some letters before he departs, but when I have finished, I’ll be happy to ride out with you. That is…”
“What?”
“Well, I shan’t finish before we sit down to the midday meal, and you would not want to depart without your dinner, particularly since it will be the first hot meal we have enjoyed since Saturday. Will two o’clock satisfy you?”
She had, perforce, to agree, but by one o’clock the clouds from the previous night had returned and the sky had grown dark and threatening, so she was not surprised when Sir Alex sent word that he was sure she would not want to risk a wetting merely for a bit of exercise. She would have liked to inform him that a little rain would not hurt them, but she knew he would just come up with another excuse. Sir Alex was not a man to brave the elements unnecessarily.
The following sennight passed in much the same manner as those first two days, except that the Fox did not deign to visit her again and the rain seemed to conspire against any but the shortest of outings. To his credit, Sir Alex did exert himself to take her riding whenever the weather permitted and was as kind as anyone could be the rest of the time, even teaching her to play chess one afternoon and allowing her to beat him twice. He said he had not let her win, that she had simply taken him by surprise, but she knew she was not yet skilled enough to have done so. Her delight when she realized that she had successfully placed his king in a fatal predicament, however, was nonetheless real.
Even so, she was soon chafing to return to Ardintoul. At least, there, she told herself, she could do as she liked when she liked.
On Tuesday, it rained again, and Sir Alex spent most of the day closeted with Lord Chisholm. By afternoon, thoroughly bored with inactivity, Bab complained to Giorsal, saying, “I vow, I did not feel so constrained as this even at court.”
“Aye, sure, but ye needna sit glowering at yon drizzle, mistress. Black looks willna chase the clouds away.”
“It is not the clouds or the rain,” Bab snapped. “It is having nothing of interest to do. At home, this drizzle would not keep me indoors. You know it would not, and at Stirling there were always things to do, rain or no rain.”
“Ye be a guest in this house, mistress. Ye must obey his lordship’s wishes.”
“I know that, but it is not his lordship who keeps me so close. Indeed, he scarcely speaks and seems to take interest in nothing. It is Sir Alex who calls the tune here, I believe, for all that everyone pretends that his father does.”
Giorsal chuckled. “That Sir Alex! They say he pays heed to naught but his clothing and correspondence. Shuts himself up half the day, most days, writing letters and such. He says he be looking over accounts, too, but others do say—”
“You should not gossip with Chisholm’s servants,” Bab said, cutting her off with a sigh and some regret, since she would have liked to hear the rest but knew it was bad manners to gossip with her woman about her host’s household. “I should not do it, either,” she added conscientiously. “Indeed, I am surprised that you would tempt me like this. I just wish Patrick would come. I want to go home.”
“Aye, well, mistress, doubtless he will be here soon.”
Claud was just wondering to himself if he should chase the clouds away so that Mistress Bab could have some sunlight when Lucy danced into view, her dark eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter. He recognized the look, and it gave him no encouragement to return her smile.
“What ha’ ye been up tae now?” he demanded.
“Are ye no going tae bring out the sun then?” she asked, dimpling again.
He stared at her. “How d’ye ken I were thinking o’ that?”
Lucy shrugged. “Ye were gazing up at them dark clouds wi’ a gey thoughtful look, Claud. I’d ha’ tae be a noddy m’self no tae ken what ye were thinking on such a dour day as this. Shall I help ye clear them away?”
“Nay, we’d best not,” he said. “The lass will only get herself into mischief, like as no. At least wi’ the rain, she willna wander far afield.”
“D’ye think ye need only keep her out o’ mischief?” Lucy asked. “Why, I recall how ye ha’ contrived more than one wedding afore, me lad. Will ye no find a man for your Mistress Bab, too?”
“Mayhap I ha’ already found one,” he said. “Did ye no think o’ that?”
Lucy dimpled again.
“Look here,” he said, “what ha’ ye been doing, Lucy?”
“I fixed things so that slut Catriona canna distract ye.”
“Here now, what did ye do to her?”
“That would be telling,” Lucy said, grinning impishly. “I did nowt tae harm her. O’ course, if she refuses tae do as she’s bid…”
Claud gave her a sharp look. “I dinna believe ye. Ye ha’ nae power over Catriona. If she’s gone about her ain business, ye may be sure ’tis because me mam sent her off wi’ a flea in her ear. She’ll be sulking somewhere, that’s all.”
“Aye, well, it be all the same, then,” Lucy said agreeably. “So now, Claud, since ye needna worry about Catriona, and Miss Bab be safe within the walls o’ Dundregg
an, mayhap ye can think o’ summat else tae to.” Grabbing one of his ears, she pulled his head around and kissed him hard on the mouth.
Laughing, Claud caught her to him and proceeded to teach her better manners, an exercise that proved enjoyable to them both.
Wednesday afternoon, while Bab was sitting with Lady Chisholm in her bower, practicing patience as her ladyship’s conversation ambled idly from topic to topic, a gilly entered and said with a bow, “We ha’ visitors, my lady. They did ask for his lordship, but I told them he be taking his wee nap, so they asked for you.”
“How pleasant,” her ladyship exclaimed. “Do show them in at once!”
Elated, certain that Patrick had arrived at last, Bab patted her hair into place and smoothed her skirt.
Hearing the gilly’s return, she jumped to her feet, only to hear him say solemnly as he entered, “The Laird o’ Kintail, my lady, and Lady Kintail.”
“But where is Patrick?” Bab demanded when Molly and Fin entered on his heels and she realized they were alone.
“Mind your manners, brat, or I’ll not give you the letter I brought from him,” Fin said as he made his bow to Lady Chisholm. “Your servant, my lady. We have come to collect this baggage and take her off your hands.”
“Pay him no heed, madam,” Molly said, making her curtsy with her red-gold curls tumbling free of the snood that had barely contained them at the best of times, since she refused to wear a proper headdress on all but the most formal occasions. Smiling brightly, she added, “I warrant you will miss Bab when she has gone.”
“I will, indeed,” Lady Chisholm said. “I so rarely have opportunity to enjoy feminine company. I’d like to have had a daughter or two, but we had only sons, and now, of course, we’ve only our dear Alex left to us. Must you take her away?”
“Aye, we must,” Fin said, shooting a stern look at Bab who was struggling to contain her impatience.
