“Only that you were here, making them.” She looked up at him, all innocence. “I told him I must speak with you. He did say”—her hands tightened on the chisel—“that you mark the days by notching the window.”
“That’s all he said?”
She nodded.
Darroc released the breath he’d been holding. Relief swept him. It would seem he wouldn’t have to smash his cousin’s nose. Even so, he burned to challenge someone—anyone—to a good round of fighting, not stopping until chests heaved and fists dripped with blood.
Lots of blood.
Darroc smiled. He couldn’t help it.
Desire for Arabella still surged inside him, hot and urgent. When she’d bent to retrieve his chisel, the neck opening of her borrowed shirt gaped wide. He’d had a fine view of her lush breasts and those pert, tightly furled nipples.
It was too much.
Especially since he’d just felt her warm, womanly softness pressing so close against him. But as much as he burned for her, there were deep lines drawn between them. So he did the only thing he could do and keep his wits.
He broached a subject sure to cool his ardor.
“Why were you on the cog?” He saw her eyes widen and felt guilty at once, bringing up something that could only cause her pain.
But the thought of a betrothed and her dowry pained him also.
“Moraig told me you were on your way to see the Seal Isles.” He pretended he didn’t know why.
She stiffened and glanced aside. “I did want to see the Seal Isles. The Merry Dancer was bound for Man. Captain Arneborg agreed to stop at the isles on the way. My father paid him well to do so.”
“Surely you have seals in Kintail?” Darroc released her and folded his arms. “I see no reason to make such an arduous journey just to see seals.”
“I wanted to visit the isles.” She looked back at him. Her tone was cool. “They are part of my dowry.”
There, she’d said what he’d wanted to hear.
And it made him feel like hell.
“Couldn’t your betrothed have taken you there after your wedding?” He truly was pathetic. “Surely—”
“I do not have a betrothed.” She glanced down, brushed at her plaid skirt.
Darroc’s heart soared.
Arabella flushed.
She’d seen the triumph in his eyes and knew he was laughing at her. Most women her age—especially the daughters of mighty chieftains—had more than empty dowries. They had husbands and were long married, several bouncing bairns on their knees.
“I wished to visit the Seal Isles because there is a hermit’s cell on the main isle.” She wasn’t about to tell him the rest. “It’s a cave and belonged to one of St. Columba’s followers. His name was St. Egbert and I want to pray at his shrine.”
That much was true.
She just didn’t say what she wished to ask for.
“I am no’ aware of such a place on the Seal Isles.” Darroc’s brows drew together. “They are none too far from here, see you. I’d know if one of Columba’s men had hermited close by.”
She raised her chin and met his suspicion with all the dignity of her race. “He was a little known follower of Columba. Not many are aware of his connection to the Seal Isles. A traveling minstrel who once spent time there told my family of him.”
“Indeed.” He didn’t believe her.
She didn’t care.
How could she, when all she could think about was how she’d felt when he’d held her, his arms wrapped tight around her and her cheek pressed against his shoulder. She could melt again just remembering. She’d come alive in his embrace, breathing in his scent of clean male and just a hint of wood smoke and the sea. His heart had thundered wildly, its pounding seeping into her, melding with the beats of her own racing pulse until she’d been consumed with such an intense longing she’d feared it would break her.
She was sure he’d wanted her.
Even sheltered as she was, she could tell.
His eyes had told her, too. He was looking at her that way now. It was a dark, piercing stare that sizzled right through her, making her blood leap and the heat rush to her face. She lifted a hand to her cheek, felt the burning there. Warmth curled low in her belly, tantalizing. Her mouth went dry in anticipation.
She wanted him to kiss her.
He stepped closer, as if he knew. “Why are you not betrothed?” He reached for one of her braids, smoothing his thumb over the plaited strands. “I would think all the young worthies in the land would be badgering your father for your hand.”
“They have, but….” The image of her father’s face flashed through her mind, purple with fury, as he glared down each suitor who’d come to call. “There hasn’t been—no one has yet made a serious bid. They’ve all withdrawn before showing any true interest.”
She hoped he’d leave it at that.
It was too humiliating to admit that her father had chased them away. There wasn’t a one who’d stayed at Eilean Creag long enough to make an offer.
“I find that hard to believe.” Darroc’s voice deepened and his gaze went a shade darker. “Were I one of them, I would not have left until I had what I wanted. I’d never turn away from such a prize.”
She lifted her chin, not caring that her face must be glowing like a balefire. “You mean my riches?”
“I mean you.”
Arabella blinked. She wasn’t prepared for such an answer, though she’d hoped. Hoped so much.
Prickling excitement raced through her, making her skin tingle. Her heart skittered and then slammed against her ribs, beating hard and slow.
“What do you mean, me?” Her voice hitched on the words.
“Och, lass.” The look he gave her watered her knees. “You must know. I—ever since—”
He broke off and shoved a hand through his hair. Heat flared in his eyes, blazing as if he were the devil’s own henchman.
Then, before she could blink, he reached for her, pulling her hard against him. She caught one quick glimpse of his eyes, saw the passion burning there. Then his mouth slanted over hers in a rough, devouring kiss that set her senses reeling and left her breathless.
She slid her arms around him and leaned close, pressing into him as he tightened his hold on her. He groaned and deepened the kiss. She let him, savoring the intimacy, the thrill of pleasure that shot through her when his tongue thrust into her mouth, seeking and curling around her own. It was bliss untold. The glory of his lips moving so masterfully over hers undid her. She was splintering inside, aching, hungering for more.
“Ooooh….” She gasped in wonder, then shivered deliciously when he caught her sigh, drinking her breath as if it were the sweetest nectar.
She opened her mouth wider, welcoming his essence into her lungs, wanting to sate herself on the heady taste and scent of him. He moaned, his tongue sliding over and around hers in a sensual silken dance she never wanted to end. She closed her eyes, sure that life as she’d known it had ended, plunging her into a shining, spinning sea of carnal delight.
She didn’t care if it was wrong.
His name mattered even less.
She only knew she needed him. This blinding, dazzling passion only he could give her. She’d yearned for this moment since she’d first seen him. Perhaps even since glimpsing him in the tower window at Dunakin, so long ago in Kyleakin. She was sure now that she’d seen him there.
Just as she knew someone was watching them.
And it wasn’t Frang and Mina.
A chill raced down her spine and she opened her eyes to slits, almost afraid to look. And with good reason, for she saw at once that a woman stood staring at them from the other side of the room.
Better said, the woman hovered.
Beautiful and smiling, she shimmered brilliantly near one of the window arches, the hem of her sparkling luminously white gown at least two hand breadths above the floor.
Arabella screamed.
Darroc released her at o
nce, panting. “Sakes!” He stared at her, his chest heaving. “I ken well I shouldn’t have done that, but—”
“A ghost!” Arabella pointed. “It wasn’t you. I saw a see-through blond woman in a glittering white gown. There, by that window!”
“If you did, she isn’t there now.” His tone was angry, his annoyed gaze on the window arch.
Something had changed.
The warmth that had been cascading through her like a golden river in spate turned cold, icing her blood and leaving her empty inside.
She took a deep breath, willing herself to appear calm, untouched by his wild kisses and how little they must have meant to him.
“There was someone here.” She went across to the window and rested her hands on the cold stone of its broad, angled splay. The air felt different there, tingly, warm, and somehow charged. “I am sure of it. She had pale hair, braided like mine, and—”
She felt foolish as soon as the words left her tongue.
Then she saw the notches.
Not his. These were faint, barely there scratches that filled the entire window.
“Dear saints!” She clapped a hand to her cheek, horror sluicing her. “This was Asa Long-Legs’s chamber,” she cried, sure of it. “She made these marks. One for each day she was trapped here, just as you told me.”
“She may have done, aye.” Darroc joined her at the window. She didn’t miss that he took care to stand at least an arm’s length away from her. “I do believe this was her room. It follows that she’d favor this window, seeing as it looks to the north.”
“The north?” Arabella blinked. She couldn’t think with him standing so near.
“Shetland lies due north.” Darroc was looking out into the morning, his gaze on the horizon. “Perhaps she stood here, thinking of her home at Scalloway and wishing she’d never left there.”
“Then it was she I saw.” Arabella touched one of the scratch marks, her heart twisting. “She was very beautiful. But she didn’t look sad. She looked happy.”
Darroc harrumphed. “I doubt you saw her. If she is about—which I cannot imagine—she will surely be in her beloved Shetland. She will have left here many years ago. This was no easy place for her.”
“I saw something.” Arabella wouldn’t back down.
“You saw a beam of morning sunlight.” Darroc took her gently by the shoulders, turning her to face the east window where a band of pale light slanted through that window’s tall arched opening.
“This window is in shadow.” Arabella broke away from him and rubbed her arms. She couldn’t rid herself of the chills still sweeping her.
Darroc glanced at Asa’s window and frowned. He couldn’t deny the deep shadows there. The wind howled bitterly on this side of the room and cold rain still pelted the tower walls. It was a gray bleak morning, and just since they’d spoken, the watery light faded from the east window, the sun having slipped behind the clouds.
Arabella’s borrowed shirt had slipped, too. Come loose during their kissing, the neck opening dipped low, revealing her breasts in near naked glory. Once more, heat scorched her cheeks.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed.
He surely had, if his attempts not to look there were any indication.
“I have a friend, Olaf Big Nose.” He smoothed a fold of his plaid, his words making no sense. “He makes camp on a nearby isle. I shall be visiting him soon. He’ll want to know of the Black Vikings that rammed the Merry Dancer. And”—he kept his gaze on the horizon, the dark clouds building there—“he will be eager to help me chase down the miscreants. As a peace-loving man, he’ll see it in his interest to help banish them from our seas.”
Arabella only half listened. It mattered more that she covered herself.
“… they will have clothes for you,” Darroc was saying, now taking a brisk turn about the room.
She started. “Who will have clothes for me?”
He glanced at her, careful to keep his gaze above her shoulders. “Olaf’s womenfolk. He has a whole slew of them living there on his isle. Some”—he colored a bit—“are of your size and shape. They are goodly women and will see well to you.”
She lifted a brow. “What do you mean they will see to me?”
“Just that.” He stopped pacing. “You can’t remain clothed in table linens. However well-stitched they are, such garments are unworthy of you. Olaf’s women are well-accoutered. They will be glad to share.”
“I understood that part.” Arabella finished fumbling at her shirt laces. “But you speak as if you mean to take me there.”
“I do.”
“A sea journey?” The thought struck terror in her.
“It is a short journey of one night.” He spoke as if everything was decided. “The birlinn can’t offer you the comfort of the merchant cog, but I can promise she is seaworthy. Olaf must hear what happened to the Merry Dancer. He’ll appreciate having the tale from you. And—”
He glanced at one of the room’s four window arches. It was the one that held his neat rows of notches. Each mark bold and perfectly chiseled, one like the other.
His gaze remained fixed on them as if they held more meaning than simply marking days. “The journey will—”
Arabella shook her head. “I am not ready for such a—”
“You need to reacquaint yourself with sea travel.” He went to stand at the notched window, lightly touching the deep scores in the stone. “We’ll wait until the weather clears. Geordie Dhu is no’ just a master cook, he is an unerring weather prophet. He can sniff out an approaching storm days before its coming just as he need only observe the color and quality of the sea to know danger is imminent.
“Even the feel of his fine wheaten bread dough tells him much, he says. How the seabirds fly and, believe it or not, the rising smoke from his cook fire.” He glanced at her, his face hard-set. “No harm will come to you. I give you my solemn word on it.”
“What of the Black Vikings?”
“My men and I will make forays beforehand to ensure they are no’ about.” He’d considered everything.
Arabella swallowed. “I still do not wish to go.”
He came back to her then, once more taking her by the arms. But his touch was different this time. No longer caring and tender or searing with passion, the hands that held her so firmly felt cold.
It was as if their kiss had never happened.
“I will no’ force you.” His tone was colder than his touch. “But I hope you will deign to join me. I assure you that”—a slash of red swept across his cheekbones—“I will no’ touch you again.”
So he hadn’t forgotten.
But he regretted it.
“I am not worried.” Arabella clasped her hands. “I understand that men are sometimes overcome with animal passions,” she spoke primly, not wanting him to see her hurt. “As I also know that such urges mean nothing.”
For a moment, he looked as if she’d struck him.
But he recovered swiftly. “We can make a side trip to the Seal Isles on the return journey. Then, after Olaf Big Nose and I have dealt with the Black Vikings and so long as there isn’t word of the English plague having reached the mainland hills, I will see you escorted back to Kintail.”
“I see.” Arabella lifted her chin.
He looked relieved. “Seal Isles is no great journey. But by the time we return here, you’ll have lost your fear and will no longer dread the long voyage home.”
Arabella’s heart sank.
He wanted to be rid of her.
She broke free of his grasp and turned to the window, taking care to keep her back straight and her head high. The morning had worsened and sheets of rain blew past the tower on the rising wind. Below, the sea crashed loudly over the rocks. She welcomed the pounding roar, hoping the noise covered the disappointed hammering of her heart.
She took a deep breath of the chill, damp air and then summoned all her practiced poise. “I will think on accompanying you.”
&nb
sp; It was the most she was willing to say.
“I am glad to hear it.” His voice was almost stern, as chiefly as her father’s. “Now, Lady Arabella, I believe it is best if I leave you alone to consider. But I’ll return shortly. I’ll no’ have you descending these old steps on your own.” Then he nodded and strode from the room before she had a chance to argue.
Not that she would have.
She’d already made up her mind. She’d go wherever he desired to take her. And she’d put a pleasant face to it.
Her pride gave her no other option.
But when his footfalls faded and she turned back to the window to stare down at the foaming sea, one thing surprised her. Much as she loved her family, she didn’t want to return home to Kintail.
She wanted to stay here.
And she wanted Darroc to love her.
Across the room, at the north-facing window arch, Asa Long-Legs dashed a glittery tear from her cheek. It was a strange sensation as she hadn’t cried in so long. There’d been so many tears in the beginning, when she first learned she was trapped here. She’d wept rivers of tears then. Both in her true life and in the one she led now. Then the day came when there were no more left to shed.
These days she only wanted happiness.
And she’d felt such joy at Castle Bane since the arrival of the raven-haired beauty. She knew the young chief wanted her. And when he’d kissed the maid—with true passion and not the brazen conquest of her own MacConacher—she’d shimmered so brightly with the thrill of it that Lady Arabella had seen her.
Under different circumstances, she’d be filled with delight that it was so. She wanted so much for them to know of her. To be aware that she wished them all goodness.
But Arabella had screamed.
And her cry shattered their magic.
Asa swept away another sparkling tear as she watched Arabella staring out the window. The sadness on her face hurt her. Yet she was sure Darroc was only running scared. Soon he’d be kissing the lass again, and with even more heat. As an accomplished flirt in her own day, back at her father’s court and before Rhun snatched her away, she knew how to read men.
Darroc loved Arabella.
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