Arsenic and Old Armor (8 page)

“
Do
not
look at me.”

“
I’m afraid that is
impossible. I like looking at you.” He put more pieces on the fire.
Her shivering was worse than before. Iain moved beside her and sat
down as the wood started to catch.

“
Not so close,” she said in
a low voice.

“
Not close enough.” Iain
pulled her into his arms and was immediately concerned. She didn’t
put up any fight at all, which meant the cold was getting to her or
she was already dead.

“
Don’t touch me,” she
whispered. Well, she wasn’t dead. But she still wasn’t
fighting.

He ignored her and ran his hands up and down
the cold, clammy skin of her arms and back. The chemise was still
wet. “You should have taken this off, too.”

“
I couldn’t sit here
naked.”

“
Why not?” he asked,
smiling as she laid her face against his chest. Her hands pressed
against his skin, trying to absorb his warmth.

“
You know why. I wouldn’t
want to give you any wrong ideas.”

No wrong ideas were necessary. Iain glanced
down at his own lap. He was past mild stirrings. Her touch had him
erect. Marion must have noticed where he was looking, for she
immediately tried to pull out of his embrace.

“
No, stay.” His fingers
fisted in her wet hair. He held Marion’s head against his chest.
When she stopped struggling, he eased his grip, and she looked up
at him. He fought the urge to kiss her lips. “I told you I won’t do
anything you don’t want me to do.”

He could see the look of hesitation in her
face, but in the end the warmth of Iain’s body must have been too
comfortable. She didn’t move away.

“
How’s your
shoulder?”

“
It is sore as the blazes.
But I think I’ll live.”

“
That’s too bad.” She
rubbed her cheek gently against his shoulder. “I think I’ll try to
go to sleep.”

He nodded, watching her as she nestled
herself closer against him, tucking one hand under her chin. Her
other hand remained on his stomach.

Marion was exhausted, and it didn’t take too
long before her breathing slowed, her eyelids fluttered, and her
legs jumped a couple of times as she fell asleep.

All Iain could do, though, was to watch the
partially clothed woman who was his wife. His feelings were
changing. He no longer was angry at her, and he no longer dreaded
what trouble she would come up with next in her quest to torment
him. Instead, he realized he was actually looking forward to
it.

There was no beach, no shoreline, no
islands. For as far as Marion could see, there was nothing to
relieve the vast expanse of water around her. In every direction,
all she saw was the unending blue and gray of a choppy sea.
Somewhere in the distance, the waters blended in with similar
colors of the sky.

She didn’t know how she got here. She had no
clue how long she had been swimming. Her arms and legs, though,
were so tired. They felt heavy, as if a millstone were tied to
each. She felt her chin beginning to slip beneath the surface. Her
body rose on a huge swell, the white crest of the wave slapping her
hard in the face. She looked ahead at the next cresting wave as her
body slid down into the trough. She was so tired.

No one wanted her. No one was coming to save
her. There was no purpose in fighting. Her fate was sealed. She
might as well end it all now, she thought in despair. The next wave
would surely finish her anyway.

She saw the wave coming. It was higher than
the last. It was as tall as the walls of Fleet Tower. She kept her
eyes open but ceased trying to swim. Her body was not rising on the
swell. As the wave approached, she saw it start to crest over her.
She saw it ready to crash down on her head.

She held her breath, but just as sprays of
water reached her, strong hands reached up from beneath the surface
of the sea, taking hold of her waist and drawing her under.

As the water churned around her from the
force of the wave, Marion felt herself being drawn ever deeper. The
surface was strewn with bright foam far above her, and she
struggled to get back up for air.

Breathe
, her rescuer’s voice whispered.

She paused, stunned by the sound of the
voice in her ear. The voice was so confident, so reassuring.

She breathed in and found she could breathe
like a fish.

She turned around to look at her rescuer.
Half man, half fish…the creature’s magnificent muscled chest drew
her gaze. The sinews rippled as she was drawn closer to him. She
looked up into his face.

It was Iain.

Startled, Marion opened her eyes at once.
She took a breath to test the air. Wisps of steam escaped her lips.
She stared at the blue sky above. The loud twittering of a bird
drew her eye. The wee noisy beast was sitting on some gorse not far
from the boulder.

“
You need your feathers
plucked,” she murmured.

With the sound of her own voice, reality
began to dawn on her slowly but surely.

She was not floating in any sea, but lying
on top of hard and uneven ground. She was no longer wet. The skin
of her face was nearly numb from the cold, but the rest of her was
comfortable and warm. There was, however, the small problem of the
weight that was about equal to a boulder sitting on her chest and
trapping her arms and legs.

She tried to lift her head but found her
efforts to be futile.

Now fully awake, she recognized the source
of the warmth and the weight. Iain’s body was draped across hers.
His rough, unshaven face was buried in her hair, his breath
tickling the skin on her neck. His legs had hers trapped between
theirs. His hand, flattened against her stomach, was a source of
incredible heat.

The image from her dream danced in her head.
She had believed him enough in a dream to do the impossible. She
had breathed beneath the sea. She had trusted him.

She looked around at his powerful arm, his
muscular back, the wide shoulders. She had been attracted to him in
her sleep. She couldn’t lie to herself. He was a very attractive
man. For years, anytime the prioress was at odds with her, Marion
had dreamed of Iain coming for her. Taking her away to where she
belonged, where she was wanted.

And he
had
come. Perhaps, she thought with
a frown, it wasn’t too late. Perhaps she was creating a ruckus for
nothing. Rather than dwelling on what she found distasteful about
the situation, perhaps she should focus a wee bit on the
positives.

Iain Armstrong was a very
handsome man. He was also a patient one, when he chose to be.
Marion knew he had an excellent sense of humor. Aside from these,
she could add courage, independence, intelligence, and dozens of
other virtues. It was true that he was an excellent catch for any
woman of marriageable age. Too bad for them, she thought somewhat
smugly. He was already
her
husband. And that was no surprise, either. This
marriage had been arranged long before she was old enough to know
of it.

Marion tried to clear her thoughts. These
things were too serious to be thinking while she lay half naked in
Iain’s embrace.

She turned her head and saw her dress and
his shirt where they’d left them last night. The fire looked to be
out. There was no escaping the human blanket without awakening
him.

She tried to think of some clever way to
escape, but her stomach immediately sounded the alarm, growling
loud enough to awaken the dead. Iain stirred. Stretched. His body
rolled more fully on top of hers. His hand moved over her chemise,
caressing her skin with it.

A feeling like lightning shot through her,
making her cold and hot at the same time. Instead of pushing him
away, Marion found herself frozen with anticipation. They were
husband and wife, she reminded herself again. It was perfectly
understandable that she would want to know where his hand might
drift to next. It was natural curiosity.

His hand drifted toward her breast. She
caught his wrist.

“
Enough pretending, brute,”
she told him. “I know you’re awake.”

His head slowly lifted off her neck. His
blue eyes were sleepy; his hair stood up in every direction. He
desperately needed to shave. Despite all his flaws, though, he
looked more handsome than he had any right to. There were
butterflies raging a full-fledged battle in her stomach.

“
Good morning,” he
whispered, keeping his hand where it was, just beneath her breast.
His thumb moved in a small circle on her ribs. “How did you
sleep?”

“
I couldn’t sleep,” she
lied. “Not a wink.”

“
Why is that?”

“
You’re far too heavy. I
couldn’t breathe.”

A smile danced on his lips. “You’ll get used
to it.”

He rolled to his side before she could
answer, and Marion immediately felt the bracing cold on her warm
skin. She tried to get up, but he didn’t let her, instead draping
one leg tighter over her thighs, entrapping her.

“
Not yet. Your dress is
still wet.”

“
How do you
know?”

“
This thing is still wet.”
He put his hand on the chemise where it draped across her
hip.

Maybe it was a bit damp. Marion caught his
other hand, keeping it from straying. She felt that fluttery
feeling in her stomach again.

“
It will have to do,” she
said. “We have to get up and dress. Your men could arrive anytime
now, and we cannot have them see us like this.”

“
You’re right about that.
No one can see you like this…but me.”

He was staring at her chest. She followed
the direction of his gaze and was appalled to find the chemise
pulled down and too much of her breasts exposed. She immediately
pulled up the neckline, but things didn’t look much better. The
linen undergarment was too thin, and the tips of her breasts too
dark. She struggled to get up, but he held her firmly in place. His
arm wrapped around her back and pulled her closer to his side.

“
Why are you fighting
it?”

“
Fighting what?”

“
Our marriage,” he said
seriously, looking into her eyes.

“
Didn’t you hear anything I
told you yesterday?”

“
No,” he said.

She landed a halfhearted punch on his chest.
“And why is that?”

“
Because you were throwing
a temper tantrum…much like the ones you used to throw as a
child.”

“
What I did yesterday was
no temper tantrum. I was angry.”

“
How are you today?” he
asked.

“
I am still
angry.”

“
Why?”

“
Why?” Marion repeated
incredulously as she raised herself on one elbow. “You left me in
that convent for twelve long years. No visitors, no family, no
trips home even for short visits. Twelve bloody years,” she
drawled, leaning over him. “Don’t you think I should be angry at
you over that?”

“
You probably should be
angry.” Iain reached for a strand of her hair and a defector curl
looped around his finger. “But I had my reasons.”

“
What were
they?”

“
You shall find out soon
enough.”

“
That is hardly an
acceptable answer. I want to hear your reasons now.” She shoved at
his chest again, this time with more vigor, and he rolled on his
back. Marion had forgotten he was holding her curls captive, so she
had to go with him.

A roguish smile broke across his lips. “You
are very physical. We’ll have a lot of fun with that.”

Fun?
Marion thought.
Doing what?
She shook her head, forcing herself to not get
distracted by his comment. “Tell me your reasons for banishing me
to Skye.”

“
Very well. Our families,
to begin with.”

She shook her head. “I have stopped blaming
our families for putting me in this predicament of having to marry
you. I only blame you. It is time you took responsibility for your
actions. You are at fault for everything.”

He put a hand behind his head. The other one
continued to play with her hair. “Say what you will. But however
horrible living in a convent was for the past twelve years, you
would have fared much worse at Blackthorn Hall.”

She winced. “Your mother never liked
me.”

“
She never disliked you.
She’s just terrified of your family and likes to keep her
distance.”

“
You should have listened
to her and stayed away, too.” She shuddered. “She will probably try
to drown our firstborn child, thinking him mad for
crying.”

He smiled. “No chance.”

His smile was too boyish and distracting.
Marion realized she had said the wrong thing. She’d admitted that
they might have a future together. Even have a child. She forced
her face into a frown. “I would have never stayed at Blackthorn
Hall, anyway. I belong at Fleet Tower.”

“
Not the way your family
has been behaving.”

“
You told me all your lies
about my aunts and uncle getting older, yesterday. I don’t believe
any of it.”

“
Your aunts are fine.
They’re harmless enough.”

“
But they talk too much,”
she finished for him. She tugged hard enough to free her hair. She
jumped to her feet. “That’s it. You’re doing it again. Just because
my aunts are not as silent and dull as your family. So what if they
talk? Well, I’ll have you know that I like to talk, too. I even
talk to myself, and to the trees, and to animals. I even talk
to
you
. I must be
insane.”