by Emma Prince
“And do ye trust me?”
“With my safety, oui,” she answered without hesitation. Yet what she left unsaid struck him like a kick to the gut—she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him.
The knowledge that she felt the same burning desire he did was like a swig of powerful Highland whisky. It warmed his blood and made his head spin wildly.
“Ye are safe with me,” he said.
“Oh, I think we both know that is not true,” she whispered.
“And what would be the harm if we were honest about what we want?”
Aye, there was the root of his frustration, and why he’d been behaving like such an arse, especially in questioning her about Thierry. He desired her, damn it. And he was no good at pretending he didn’t.
Slowly, he slid his thumb and forefinger down one of her silky flaxen locks. “Society’s eyes arenae here to approve or disapprove. Besides, ye should ken by now that I dinnae give a damn what others think.”
A distant, sane part of his mind screamed at him that he was going down a path toward madness, but all traces of reason vanished when she brought a slim finger to her lips and began biting her nail. It was an unconscious gesture he was coming to recognize as a sign of nervousness, yet it told him she was considering his words.
Without thinking, he gently pulled her hand from her mouth and brought the abused nail to his own lips. Slowly, he kissed the pad of her finger, then drew it into the heated depths of his mouth.
She sucked in a breath, her eyes hazing with desire as he teased her with his tongue. He slid her finger free, then turned over her palm and sank his teeth into the flesh at the base of her thumb.
“Let me pleasure ye,” he mumbled against her palm.
She stiffened, and he looked up to find her lips parted in surprise.
He’d assumed she was a virgin given her rigid adherence to propriety, yet something about the shadow that had crossed her eyes when she’d spoken of misplacing her trust years ago gave him pause. But even if she was innocent, she’d lived in the French court for some time, where trysts were an open secret and carnal indulgence was considered a natural part of life. Had no one ever offered to give her pleasure before without expecting aught in return?
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I want to see ye lose control,” he rasped, holding her gaze. “I want to make ye come undone under my touch.”
He moved his lips back to her finger, sucking it once more until she answered.
“Oui,” she breathed, her eyelids sliding closed.
In less than a heartbeat, he was kissing her. She opened under him instantly, surrendering to his invading tongue. His hands fumbled with the ties running down the back of her dress, eager to free her skin from the garment.
When he’d gotten a few of the laces loose, he simply tugged on the material at her shoulders impatiently. To his pleasure, she helped him by wriggling until the silk was bunched at her waist.
He slid the gown over her gently flaring hips and let it pool at her feet, leaving her only in a silk chemise. The material was slippery-smooth and warm from her skin. Even with only her shoulders and arms bare now, it was nearly the most erotic thing Kieran had ever experienced.
Unable to hold back any longer, he nudged her against the wall, bracketing her body with an arm braced on either side of her. He tore his mouth away to trail hot kisses down her throat and across her exposed décolletage. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as he found inch after inch of sensitive, creamy skin with his lips and tongue.
One of his hands fisted in the silky length of the chemise, dragging it up until his fingers brushed her smooth, soft thigh. The other rose to cup one perfect, high breast. Her nipple was already pebbled with desire against the silk. He thumbed it, drawing a gasp and a moan from her.
His cock throbbed painfully beneath his kilt, but he willed himself not to lose control. Instead, he focused on her breast until he could feel her thigh trembling against his other hand. He moved up, brushing the curls between her legs. They were already damp. He shuddered with longing.
He slid a finger along the seam of her sex, making her moan again. Bloody hell, she would be his undoing even if she never touched him. She was so sensitive and alive under his hands, so responsive and nigh overflowing with passion beneath that thin veil of control.
When he parted her and brushed his finger against that bud of a woman’s pleasure, she bucked against him.
So much for restraining himself.
He yanked down the front of her chemise, freeing her breasts to his gaze. They were round and soft and tipped with points of pink the same petal-soft color as her lips.
He closed a hand over one, letting his callused palm tease her, and his lips over the other, flicking his tongue over her nipple. Her fingers sank into his shoulders, clawing him wildly as her breaths came faster and faster.
When she was moaning and rolling her hips against his hand, he slid a finger inside her tight, wet core, dragging it in and out slowly while keeping the pressure on her bud with his thumb.
“Say my name,” he rasped against her skin. “Let me hear it on yer lips.”
“Kieran,” she moaned. “Kieran.”
She came hard against his hand, shuddering and crying out. He could feel her pulse around his finger until her breathing began to slow and she slumped against the wall.
Reluctantly, he withdrew from between her legs and lifted her chemise back in place over her breasts. He scooped up her suddenly boneless body and carried her to the cot, laying her down gently.
But when he began to move away, she gripped him around the neck. Her eyes lifted to his, dark and vulnerable.
He’d told her he wanted to see her come undone, to lose control. Now that he had, fear spiked hard in his gut. She was so damn beautiful, all disheveled and free, her defensive walls down.
He felt a stirring in his chest he’d thought himself no longer capable of—caring. But he already knew where this would end—in pain and loss. It always did. Opening one’s heart only made it defenseless against being hurt.
Kieran drew away, unlooping her arms from his neck. “Rest,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended. “We have another half-day’s ride ahead of us tomorrow before we reach Picardy.”
She shuttered the emotion in her eyes, nodding.
Kieran settled himself on the ground in front of the cot, pulling his extra length of plaid around him. He’d made a grave error tonight in thinking giving rather than taking pleasure would keep him safe from the pull he felt toward Vivienne. Aye, there was no denying that lust crackled between them, but he had to ensure it didn’t turn into aught more.
He’d lost everything once before, and he didn’t plan on ever doing so again.
Chapter Twelve
“My family’s estate is just beyond this rise.”
Those were the first words Vivienne had spoken to Kieran in hours. He grunted in response, not knowing what else to say.
That morning, they’d exchanged a few tense words in which they’d both agreed that it would be best to avoid the kinds of intimacies they’d succumbed to the night before.
For his part, Kieran should have been glad, for intimacy was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid for the last ten years. He needn’t confuse lust with emotion. Yet it tweaked his ire to see Vivienne’s cool, composed veneer in place come the light of day. Could she really return to that act now that he’d seen her true, passionate nature?
But of course he hadn’t asked her that. Curiosity about what lay under her surface had been what had gotten him in trouble last night.
So they’d departed the inn without speaking further and had ridden north under a cloud-dappled sky for several hours.
Only now did she speak, pointing northwest beyond the hill they were mounting. As they topped the grassy rise, Kieran expected to see some grand keep surrounded by fertile, vast lands. Instead, a solitary tower house sat in the midst of an unkempt, overgrown pl
ot.
They looked more like unclaimed, open lands than the holdings of a noble family. And it was a far cry from the pristine, wealthy estate he’d always assumed Vivienne had grown up on. In fact, it was downright humble.
He glanced at Vivienne to see if her face betrayed any embarrassment at bringing him here, but to his surprise, her eyes brimmed with yearning and her lips curved in a sweet smile. She tapped her heels against her horse’s flanks to hurry the animal’s descent down the hill and toward the tower house.
Kieran urged his horse after hers, quickly overtaking her. Though he doubted any danger lurked at her family’s estate, he couldn’t be too careful. She ignored him as she reined in her mount a dozen paces from the keep.
The round, conical-topped tower looked to have been built more than a hundred years ago. Mayhap it had once been a defensible holding, but it had long since passed its peak. An additional structure had been built at the base of the three-storey tower slightly more recently, creating what looked like a modest great hall with attached kitchens. Kieran saw no guards or other defensive measures as he swung down from the saddle.
The wooden door on the attached hall swung open just as Kieran was lifting Vivienne from her horse. Instinctively, he angled her behind him, but she slipped from his hold and darted around.
“Madame Claudette!” Vivienne cried, hurrying toward the woman standing in the doorway. The woman stepped into the sunlight with a wide grin on her face. She was perhaps twice Vivienne’s age, and almost as strikingly beautiful, yet the two bore no resemblance to each other.
Madame Claudette wore a plain brown woolen dress with an apron tied over it. Her long black hair, which was liberally sliced with gray, hung in a simple braid down her back. Even from several paces away, Kieran could see the vibrancy of her green eyes.
Just before Vivienne reached Claudette, she pulled up, giving the woman a dignified tilt of the head rather than the hard embrace Kieran would have expected based on how excited she’d seemed a moment before. But ever the proper lady, Vivienne had apparently regained control.
Even with Vivienne’s relatively staid greeting, Claudette smiled warmly, curtsied, and then squeezed Vivienne’s arm.
“What an unexpected pleasure, mademoiselle. I’ll fetch your father.”
Claudette disappeared into the keep, then a moment later, a tall, lean man with blond hair turning to white filled the doorway. He carried a thin cane in one hand, extending his other toward Vivienne.
“Vivi?”
“Papa,” Vivienne cried. Now she launched herself into his arms for an embrace. He chuckled as he hugged her back, his pale blue gaze drifting over her head to rest on Kieran.
“To what do we owe such a wonderful surprise?” the man asked, releasing Vivienne.
“And who have you brought with you, mademoiselle?” Claudette murmured from behind Vivienne’s father.
Vivienne turned and beckoned Kieran forward. “Unfortunately,” she said, her happiness dimming, “the circumstances aren’t pleasant. I’ll explain shortly. This is Monsieur Kieran MacAdams. Kieran, this is Seigneur Lambert de Valance, my father, and Madame Claudette Rougarde, the keep’s chatelaine.”
“Milord,” Kieran said, sketching a faint bow. “Madame.”
De Valance took a step forward out of the doorway, but instead of leaning on his cane, he tapped it on the ground before his feet. “A Scotsman?” he asked, cocking his head as if to listen to Kieran’s voice again.
“Aye, milord,” Kieran replied, a bit puzzled. The plaid around his hips should have given him away for a Scot before his voice had.
The man’s white brows rose in surprise, yet to Kieran’s confusion, he seemed to be staring with those pale, milky blue eyes at some point beyond Kieran’s shoulder.
Then it hit him like a flash of lightning—Lambert de Valance was blind.
Vivienne was watching Kieran closely, her chin lifted defensively as if daring him to make a comment in his usual blunt, ill-mannered way. But all Kieran could think at the moment was how little he truly understood about Vivienne, even after all that had happened last night.
“We had best go inside and sit,” Claudette said. “I’ll make sure Pierre sees to your horses and refreshments are prepared. It seems as though the three of you have much to discuss.”
De Valance moved inside, with Vivienne and Kieran falling in behind him. As Claudette set about making them welcome, Kieran took in the appearance of the small room.
Though far too modest to be considered a great hall, the purpose of the room was much the same. A large oak table and chairs for dining sat against the back wall, with a handful of ancient tapestries hanging over them.
A hearth sat unlit opposite the table. A few well-used, upholstered chairs were clustered in front of it. Off to the right, spiral stairs led up to the tower’s higher floors, and to the left was a door that presumably opened into the kitchens.
That was all. No grand displays of wealth or power, and no indication of how a woman like Vivienne had come from a place like this.
De Valance moved to the table. The fact that he didn’t use his cane told Kieran he was very familiar with the space. He lowered himself into one of the carved wooden chairs and waited for Vivienne and Kieran to do the same.
“Now, ma fille, what are these unpleasant circumstances that have brought you here?”
Vivienne glanced at Kieran, but he motioned for her to speak. She took a deep breath and began with Kieran and the Bruce’s envoy arriving at court earlier that summer.
She explained how she’d recognized William de Soules from his visits to Edward Balliol’s estate, which had not been far from here. And she told her father how she’d aided Jerome and Elaine in unraveling de Soules’s nefarious scheme to dethrone Robert the Bruce and insert Balliol in his stead.
As she continued, her father’s jaw slackened with shock. Apparently Kieran wasn’t the only one who’d taken Vivienne for more of the demure type rather than a bold lady who’d managed to help thwart a traitor. When she described how she’d poisoned de Soules, leaving him incapacitated for nigh on a fortnight before Kieran had dragged him back to Scotland, de Valance cleared his throat.
“In short, milord,” Kieran said when Vivienne was through, “yer daughter did something verra brave, but now she is in danger.”
“Danger?” de Valance said, turning his head toward Kieran. His voice was sharp with worry. “What do you mean, Monsieur MacAdams?”
“Just Kieran,” he said, his gaze flashing to Vivienne. A blush rose to her cheeks, and his own blood stirred at the memory of his name on her lips as she’d come apart last night. He swallowed hard, refocusing on de Valance.
“Though de Soules is being held indefinitely in Scone’s dungeon, he worked to build his rebellion on both Scottish and French soil. Apparently he was secretive about how many allies he had, never letting any one person ken everyone else involved in his scheme. Since de Soules’s treachery and Vivienne’s help in stopping him are now public knowledge, I feared that she would become a target if any of de Soules’s allies sought to avenge him.”
“You feared?” Vivienne cut in. “You told me Robert the Bruce was the one who worried for my safety and decided to send you.”
Kieran barely managed to stifle a curse at his slip-up. The fact was, he hadn’t wanted her to know that he’d been the one to urge the King to send him to France. Aye, he’d told the King and the others in the Bodyguard Corps that he merely saw it as his duty to protect one of Scotland’s allies, but the truth was much more humiliating than that.
From the moment he’d laid eyes on her earlier that summer, he’d wanted to taste those petal lips and feel her soft, graceful body under his. But when she’d risked her life to incapacitate de Soules long enough for his scheme to be unraveled, Kieran had vowed that no harm would come to her. She was like delicate stained glass—too fine and valuable to come to ruin now that she’d been ensnared in Kieran’s world of violence and destruction.
He shifted in his chair under her too-perceptive gaze. “Aye, well,” he said, pausing to clear his throat. “I may have encouraged the King to consider yer protection. Ye did play a part in saving his life, after all. It seemed only right that I make sure ye were safe.”
He turned back to de Valance, but he could still feel Vivienne’s assessing eyes searching him.
“The long and the short of it is, milord,” he went on. “Someone attacked yer daughter at court. I believe it was one of de Soules’s lackeys seeking revenge against her. I’m taking her someplace safe until we can be sure the threat has been neutralized.”
De Valance shook his white head slowly, clearly speechless. Vivienne took hold of his hand and squeezed.
“I-I didn’t want to worry you,” she said, her voice tight. “But I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to visit again, and I had to make sure all was well.”
De Valance reached for her and patted her face, his features softening with paternal love. “Don’t fret over me, ma fille. Claudette takes good care of me now.”
As if beckoned by the mention of her name, Madame Claudette appeared through the door leading to the kitchen. “A meal will be ready shortly. And I’ll have a room made up for the two of you abovestairs, mademoiselle, monsieur.”
Kieran rose from the table. “I’ll be glad for a meal, but if ye dinnae mind, milord, I’d like to make a sweep of yer grounds to look for possible threats.”
De Valance chuckled sadly. “I believe the only threat you’ll encounter is being choked by weeds, Kieran. My lands are…not what they should be.”
“I used to be a farmer, milord,” Kieran said wryly. “Believe me, trying to grow barley in rocky Highland soil taught me an appreciation for nature’s resistance to our control. I’m no’ one to pass judgement when it comes to the struggles of working the land.”
Vivienne made a little noise, and he turned to find her staring at him wide-eyed. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d made assumptions during the time they’d spent together.
