“I wanted you to know why.”
“Why you can’t choose me,” she said, her heart breaking, just a bit, because of the finality of it all.
He dipped his chin. “Perhaps one day you’ll forgive me for what I’m going to do there, in Inverhaven, but I know you won’t be able to forget.” He touched her hand, where it rested on the blanket. “I just wanted you to know it’s all right for us to be on opposite sides. That you can hate my actions, and I don’t blame you.”
He did not know how opposite their sides were. Not yet. But he would soon. She did feel greater peace now, knowing he would understand when the time came. That there would be no accusations of betrayal or duplicity.
She nodded, blinking away tears. “We don’t have to hate each other.”
She felt such sadness. As if they were saying good-bye. Desperately, her gaze swept over his lips … the line of jaw … to his throat below, memorizing his every feature.
“I could never hate you,” he said, leaning closer, his blue eyes spearing her through with such intensity, she shivered. “And soon … I’ve no choice but to let you go.”
One last kiss.
Her pulse rising in her ears, she moved toward him, her hands touching his chest.
His mouth crushed down on hers, with a passion that stunned her. Feeling helpless against his desire and her own, she clutched at him, kissing him back. His mouth slanted on hers, tasting of wine, and his hands came to her shoulders. Derryth was so centered on him, on remembering every detail of these moments that might be their last, she did not protest when he lay her back onto the blanket. His eyes glazed with passion, he lay beside her and deftly unfastened her cloak. She stared up through the tree limbs, her hands in his flaxen hair as his mouth moved to her neck … and his hands to the lacings of her kirtle, the front of which he parted.
“Again,” he murmured. “One kiss, and I am lost.”
She gasped, as his fingers pulled down the neck of her léine, exposing both of her breasts to chilly air, and the wet heat of his mouth, as he cupped and stroked them both, one and then the other, licking her nipples to rigid points. Her misery at losing him only intensified her emotions and the sensations she felt. When his hand moved lower, finding its way under her kirtle, to stroke between her legs, she could only arch her back in pleasure, and moan. She was innocent of such things, but she did not want him to stop.
“Cull,” she whispered, her hands grabbing fistfuls of the blanket as her passion pitched higher.
“I love the way you say my name.”
He stroked again … and again … coaxing her toward the edge of some mysterious paradise. She shifted against the blanket, miserable and delirious all at once.
The things he did to her body made her bold. “And I love the way you’re touching me.”
Looking down into her face, Cull’s eyes darkened as his cheeks flushed. “I am selfish, for wanting to see you like this.” He peered down at her, his gaze hot and wanting. One finger found its way deeper, to slide against her slickness. “It is how I will remember you always. Beautiful, and wanting me.”
Again, his head bent to her breasts. At last, when she felt as if she might scream from need, he eased his fingers inside her and continued the rhythm.
“Cull.”
Light flashed behind her eyes, and the earth beneath her quaked, sending pleasure rippling through her limbs. His mouth closed on hers, urgent and sweet, and pushing her kirtle down, he gathered her into his arms and held her tight against his chest.
“Oh, Derryth,” he breathed into her hair. “I should not have … but with you, I lose all control.”
But he had not lost all control. If he had, he would have made love to her, and she would forever belong to him. She clung to him, knowing this was good-bye. Moments later, he pulled her up to standing. Together, in silence, they returned her garments to order. Cull kissed her one last time, long and passionately.
Within moments, they rode back in the direction from whence they’d come and soon rejoined the lumbering caravan. He drew the destrier alongside Effric’s wagon. The old man’s lips formed what could only be described as a disapproving line, as he slowed the animals and allowed her to climb back inside. Only when Effric’s face was turned, did Cull throw her an intimate look that made her heart clench before riding away.
Hours passed, and they continued on until at last, the army stopped. As twilight gathered, she perched in the wagon, shivering, staring at Cull’s tent, once again pitched upon the earth. She had spent the hours in the wagon thinking of Cull. Of everything he had told her. Of the way she felt for him. She’d unsuccessfully tried to work out some resolution, where every trouble in their world would turn out right.
Suddenly a figure passed close by. One she almost didn’t recognize. It was Nathan, carrying an armful of firewood. His face was gaunt, and his skin and clothing filthy. Glancing around, he furtively made his way closer to her.
“Nathan, are you well?” she whispered, her gaze scanning all around, fearful that someone would see them together talking. “Is everyone well?”
“Aye, all are safe and unharmed, and at last we are allowed to move freely as long as we work and feign loyalty to our commander, Duncan Stewart.” He all but spat the name. His gaze moved over her face and her garments, almost as if taking note that she had received far better treatment than the rest of them, and for that she could not help but feel a strike of shame. “Deargh has told me to tell you to be ready tomorrow night.”
Furtively, he passed a small bundle over to her, which with a glance, she found to be a soldier’s tunic and a snood.
“Ready?” Her pulse skipped at the import of his words.
If Deargh sent word to be prepared, then a firm plan had been made. For whatever reason the decision had been made not to simply wait until they were freed by Cull.
They would escape—and she would never see Cull again. Her emotions were torn between joy at the idea of seeing her sister—and perhaps even her bairn, but sadness that everything she’d known with Cull would come to an end.
Nathan murmured, “Someone will come for you and we will all flee the camp together, and make our way into the castle.”
Without another word he was gone, hoisting the bundle of wood onto his shoulders. Left alone, she let out an anxious sigh.
Two soldiers emerged from Cull’s quarters, followed by Effric, who lurched toward the wagon, wincing in pain.
“Effric,” she said, concerned for him after such a long day’s journey. She climbed down, unable to simply watch, as the old man had commanded her to do. “Tell me what I can carry or do. You must rest.”
“Aye, lass. I will now that all is in place for Sir Cull, and for you.” He gestured that she should accompany him. “Come with me now, and I’ll see you inside, then I’ll make me own bed ’ere.”
Inside, all was just as it had been before. Cull’s armor. The chairs. The bed. She took one blanket from the bed. The one Cull granted her the first day, and turned to Effric.
“Where is the pallet?” she asked. “In the wagon still? Stay here, and I will go get it.”
“I did not believe it was needed,” he said quietly, averting his gaze.
Her heart clenched in her chest.
“Well it is,” she cried, tears stinging her eyes because she knew tonight must be different.
She could not sleep in his bed again. She could not allow him to touch her the way he had that afternoon. She could not allow herself to get any closer to Cull … and then leave him on the morrow. She turned from Effric, her cheeks on fire, her composure gone, and a moment later he returned with the pallet.
“I am sorry to have spoken to you so sharply,” she said, regret weighting her shoulders.
“Sharply!” he chuckled. “It is clear you have not spent much time in an army camp.”
“That much is true,” she replied, taking comfort in his humor. “And though I think you are dear, I hope to be gone from this one soon.”
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“I hope that for you as well, lass,” he replied earnestly before leaving her.
Hours passed. She lay on her pallet but could not sleep, restless, her ears listening for Cull’s approach, at times her fears nearly spiraling out of control. What would the coming days bring? Death. Destruction. For those she loved—or for him?
But there were the normal sounds of the camp, which she knew would continue all night. Never the solid, confident cadence of his boots on the earth. No doubt he was occupied with making plans for his attack on Inverhaven. Perhaps he slept elsewhere or, like her, not at all.
Then suddenly he was there, pushing through the flap, a tall, broad-shouldered shadow in the night.
A wave of emotion rose up in her so strong that she pushed up to sitting on the pallet. Her heart pounded, tangled up with a need to hear his voice …
He froze, seeing her, then continued inward, his face averted … as if displeased … angry even, at finding her on the pallet.
There was nothing she could do about that. She lay down again, pulling the blanket high beneath her chin.
Turning away from her, he undressed quickly in the shadows, his scarred back painted by the light, the terrible, tragic proof of his unfortunate childhood that only made her ache for him more. She closed her eyes, wanting so badly to go to him, and to feel the comforting strength of his arms around her.
In his braies, he turned and, without word, climbed into his bed, turning to face away from her, his shoulders a mountain ridge beneath the dark furs.
She closed her eyes, and willed herself to sleep. She burrowed into the pallet, seeking to create warmth. Her breathing slowed …
His voice jarred her awake from the darkness.
“I cannot possibly sleep with your teeth chattering like that,” he said from the bed, the words sharp-edged with annoyance.
“I did not realize my teeth were chattering,” she replied, stung by his tone. “I will try to stop.”
She rolled to her other side, and clenched her eyes shut. Just as she dozed off, she heard his sharp voice again.
“That abominable sound. You are doing it again. Get in the bed where it is warm,” he ordered.
“No,” she replied. “I will not.”
“Well I cannot sleep with you chattering away like that,” he growled. “It is important that I sleep.”
“Then sleep. But I can’t sleep with you.”
“I won’t touch you, Derryth,” he bit out. “Never again, if that is what you wish.”
She sat up, and looked through the darkness at him.
“It is what I wish,” she replied, remaining in place. “Don’t you understand, Cull? Why I can’t be near you? What happened this afternoon … it can’t happen again. I already feel too much.”
He let out a low breath, but still, he did not turn toward her. “I understand. But I don’t have to like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” she said. “But it is the way it must be. Can you not just give me one of the furs?”
“It wasn’t a request, Derryth. Get in the bed, or I’ll put you there myself.”
She knew he would follow through with his threat. She heard the promise in his voice. She could not allow him to touch her, even in anger. If laying rigid and miserable at the edge of his bed would keep that from happening, then she would do it.
She stood, still holding the blanket, and moved toward the bed, her chest tight with emotion.
She wrapped the blanket around her, as if it would provide some barrier of protection against his closeness, and crawled in beside him, taking care that they did not touch.
For an eternity, she lay rigid and unmoving, until she was certain he slept. Only then did she allow the tension to leave her limbs. The tightness of her throat and her chest, suddenly released to a rush of tears over a feeling of loss so deep she could no longer keep it hidden inside.
If only she could keep them all safe. Those she loved inside the castle … and Cull. If only she could sway his loyalty from Buchan to the Kincaids.
It was a fantasy that would never come true. And yet still she ached for his arms around her. The comfort of his chest against her back. His warmth. His kiss.
Suddenly, his hands were there, rolling her onto her back. Cull’s face peered down into hers, stricken.
“Don’t cry,” he said gruffly.
His warmth radiated through her blanket. His fingertips grazed the outline of her face. His nostrils flared, and his gaze darkened.
“Derryth…”
She knew he intended to kiss her.
She shoved at his hands, and pushed away, springing from the bed. Gasping for breath, she retreated into the darkest shadows.
“I cannot stay here with you,” she cried, blinking through tears that fell more earnestly now.
He arose as well, throwing back the blankets and rising tall and imposing to stare at her from across the bed.
“Do you think I do not feel too? That I do not have a heart?” he said. “Do you think it will be easy for me to say good-bye?”
She covered her face with her hands, unable to look at him for the longing that nearly overwhelmed her. “Please Cull, just let me go. Let me go now. Anywhere. Back to my kinsmen. Anywhere that is not near you.”
“No,” he said, with a finality that startled her.
Her hands dropped away.
“No, not now … or no, not ever?” she asked, something akin to fear rising up inside her.
“I don’t know,” he said, his face inscrutable in the night.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” she demanded hoarsely. “You must let me go. You promised you would.… Cull? What is it that you intend to do?”
He did not answer. With shoulders hunched and angry, he strode toward his garments and yanked them on, along with his boots. With a final, dark glare at her, he stormed from the tent.
She thought of the time they’d spent together that afternoon. How perfect those moments had been, and she’d remember them always. But the words had been said. She had no place in his world, and he, no place in hers. She had guarded her heart as best she could, and now he had to let her go.
Watching him go, she saw two guards posted nearby, standing with spears.
At just that moment, a great clamor of men’s voices filled the air. Alone, she did not know what to feel. Fear, or anticipation?
A chill went through her, because intuitively, she knew something important had happened. Something had changed.
Chapter 13
At the center of camp, Cull pushed through the wall of men, some of whom held torches. He fixed his eyes on the sword embedded in the ground there, with colorful streamers tied to the hilt, flying in the wind.
“It’s from the Kincaids,” shouted one of the Highlander mercenaries. “They know we are here.”
Robert joined him, his eyes fixed on the weapon. “The Kincaids are old Norse stock. Like their Viking ancestors they’ve thrown a sword into the midst of the enemy before battle, as a challenge. As a promise of their bravery and skill.” He spoke in a tone of obvious admiration.
“Whose side are you on?” said Cull, with a glare.
Robert chuckled. “Yours, Cull. But you must agree with me. They know how to send a message.”
“Then let us send one as well.” Cull turned to his commanders. “There is no reason to wait. Let us advance now on the castle, and say a hearty good morning to these Kincaids. Let our army be the first thing they see when the sun rises.”
Their shouts and cheers filled the air.
They moved quickly, and in less than two hours, his army was in place, just outside the range of Kincaid archers. The catapults groaned and creaked, pushed to the forward edge of the line, where they would await his order. Teams of men carried wood for the barricades and fortified walls, and on his orders set about to building those structures immediately.
Just before dawn, Cull walked the entire line, from beginning to end, inspecting and encouraging the men,
and making changes where he saw them needed. When he arrived at the company commanded by Duncan, he paused, seeing Deargh and his kinsmen intermingling with the other warriors, and bearing weapons.
“What is this?” he demanded of the nearest captain. “I did not approve that these men would receive weapons and fight. They were only to build the barricades. My orders were clear.”
He had all but decided to give them their freedom today. To let them take Derryth, and go, as he knew he must.
“We need more men on the line,” came a voice behind him that he recognized as Duncan’s. Cull turned and watched him approach. “And these men are willing. I take full responsibility for them.”
Cull did not reply. Instead, he strode toward Deargh, whose gaze darkened as he grew nearer.
“You,” he said. “Come here.”
Deargh complied and waited in silence, with his tattooed head bent, for Cull to speak.
“Am I truly to believe that you are my ally now? Because I don’t.”
Derryth was a Highlander through and through, and abhorred the idea of the Crown’s interference here. Was he to believe Deargh and his kinsmen did not believe the same?
Deargh answered, “We do not need to be allies in order to fight side by side. We only have to prefer fighting over farming.” He shrugged. “The Kincaids are not MacClellan allies.”
“Neither are they your enemies.”
“That is true.” He nodded, and spoke in a quieter tone. “But Duncan Stewart there has offered to pay us generous daily wages t’ shore up his part of the line. So we’ll stay until we feel like moving on, if that’s all right with ye.” His eyes gleamed. “Perhaps we’ll go in the night, before anyone can complain of paying generous wages to Highlanders who have no intention of staying for the fight.”
Cull’s eyes narrowed on the man, but he understood. The Highlanders needed the money, and if Duncan was foolish enough to pay them, so be it. It meant one more night with Derryth … perhaps two, spent in utter misery, for he must not allow himself to touch her again for both their sakes. But curse him to hell, he would seize upon any chance to keep her with him, if only to delay their inevitable good-bye.
The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Page 14
