Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) (18 page)

For a moment, as Jane listened to the baroness’ warning, she worried the lady might somehow be privy to each and every one of her secrets. She was about to inquire what specifically Lady D’Aubrey meant when their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of a servant at the baroness’ door.

“My Lady,” said the man addressing Jane with a curt bow. “Er ... forgive me, but the baron requires yer ... ah ...
company
in his bedchamber. He bids ye go to him now.”

Jane nodded, her cheeks reddening.

“I apologize for my son,” Lady D’Aubrey offered when the servant had gone. “That was inappropriate and inexcusable.”

“It is not for you to apologize,” she assured the woman. “And it is the
least
of things he has to apologize for.”

She had not meant for her last comment to be said aloud. Her eyes widened and she raised them to Lady D’Aubrey. The eyes that met hers in return held her with an odd expression which she could not decipher.

“I think, young Jane, you are learning to bend. I am intrigued to see how your turn develops.”

“I-I know not what you mean,” Jane stammered.

Lady D’Aubrey smiled, and patted Jane’s hand affectionately. “We shall see.”

Upon returning to her chamber direct from Lord Reginald’s attentions, Jane insisted that Ruth draw her a bath. For the first time she was not only repulsed by the way Lord Reginald used her ... she was also angry. It was
her
body to give as she saw fit, not his to take whenever the urge came upon him. She felt dirty, and needed to scrub herself clean of his seed and his sweat and his smell.

This was
not
the way it was supposed to be. She was entitled to more. She
deserved
more. Robbie had taught her that, and against her better judgement, she was beginning to believe it.

As she sat in the water, taking what little comfort she could in the sensation of the water cascading down her back, she longed to tell Ruth of her secret romance. But the baroness’ warning halted the words in her throat. She had been warned to trust not even Ruth. Even as Ruth begged her to unburden herself, Jane kept silent, fighting against an overwhelming desperation to simply tell
someone
.

When Ruth had gone, Jane prepared for her nocturnal journey over the Scottish countryside. She donned her customary wool dress and laced up her sturdy shoes; her hair she left unbound. If Lord Reginald was not about to respect her rights over her own body, she was not about to respect the customs of married women ... even if her defiance would be seen by no one other than her lover.

As she waited for the castle to fall silent, she knelt beside her bed and retrieved Robbie’s scrap of plaid from where she’d hidden it between the frame and the mattress. She traced the pattern of the red and green squares with a fingertip, memorizing the individual stitches, the hues, the fraying edges. A host of complicated and dangerous emotions warred within her. She knew now that she loved Robbie with her entire being—and that was a very dangerous thing. For what good could come of a married English woman loving the Scottish enemy of her husband?

At least that was what her head told her. Her heart, however—her heart revelled in the joy she felt in this, her first real love. And her heart raged at being deprived the opportunity to have fallen in love the proper way. She should have been married to a man with whom she
could
fall in love, a man to whom she could be
attracted
. She should have been married to ...

Robbie.

Angrily, she stuffed the scrap of fabric back into the frame of the bed. Such thoughts served no purpose; they were only sure to drive her mad. She’d be best to put them out of her head, and focus on one day at a time.

Nevertheless she revisited those thoughts over and over again on her way to Robbie.

She had half a mind to tell him what the baroness had said, but the moment she entered the hut, her thoughts stilled, replaced by a swelling of her heart as she beheld him, curled on his side like a lost child.

He’d cried—she could see that immediately, even in the dim light of the fire. His eyes were red and puffy from it. But he smiled when he saw her, relieved at having her near once more. He raised himself carefully into a sitting position, bidding her to sit next to him. She did so, willingly and wordlessly.

“I canna tell ye what it meant to me to bury Connall,” he said, enveloping her in his strong arms. “Ye astound me, d’ye ken?”

“I confess I have astounded myself in this past fortnight or so. I did not believe myself capable of half the things I have done since I have come here.”

“Ye ken what I wish ...” Robbie began, and then faltered.

“What?” she pressed.

“I ken it’s daft, but ... I wish there were nothing out there waiting for us. Or that there were no day, only the night. There were no Longshanks, no D’Aubrey, even no Dunloch. D’ye ken what I mean?”

Jane turned her face into his shoulder. “I do. It’s like there are two different worlds—one of duty, and one of ...”

She pressed her lips tightly together. Had she really been about to say “love”? Though it was entirely, overwhelmingly true for her, she couldn’t admit such a thing to him ... could she?

 
“What is it? What were ye about to say?”

“Nothing,” she lied, shaking her head with a rueful smile. “I do not recall.”

Robbie glanced at her sceptically, but let it go. Instead, he pulled her with him to lie down, and when she laid her head on his chest, he stroked her hair tenderly. As he did, she let her gaze travel around the small hut. She was tempted to let herself imagine, just for a moment, that this hut truly belonged to her and Robbie, that it was their
home
. Perhaps a trunk was nestled into the corner with their garments neatly stored. Perhaps a small babe slept in the corner in a basket Robbie had fashioned. Maybe Connall had helped him ...

“What are ye thinking, Jane?”

Robbie’s murmured words filtered into her flimsy reverie, strengthening it, making it seem more real. She had to remind herself it was monumentally stupid to want such a thing.

“I’m trying not to think actually,” she evaded, offering him a half-truth. “If I allow myself to think, I remember that there
is
a D’Aubrey, and a Dunloch, and a war just outside this door.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “That is how I feel also. In truth, I have felt that way since I met ye.”

Jane raised herself up on her elbow so that she could look into his clear, green eyes. The eyes that gazed back at her glowed warmly in the firelight, rich with some emotion she dared not try to name but which sent her stomach and her heart into a tumult of longing nonetheless.

“I don’t want to think,” she repeated in a whisper.

No, what she wanted was Robbie—in so many more ways than just physically. She wanted his devotion; his very
soul
. She wanted what she could not have and dared not admit.

He heard her thoughts anyway, as though she’d spoken them aloud. He reached a hand up and nestled his fingers into her hair. Pulling her face to his he kissed her long and tenderly. His mouth on hers was a language of its own, communicating feelings and emotions so much better than any spoken words could. Jane wanted to believe desperately that his kiss could be conveyed into promises, could offer security and safety. She wanted desperately to believe that his kiss could make the world around them and everyone in it disappear.

And this night, she was prepared to let herself believe it all—if only for a short while. She responded to his kisses with ardent desire, with passion, and with love. Yes,
love
. She would never tell him, but this night, this moment, she would allow herself to admit it inwardly.

She
loved
Robbie.

She loved him as she gripped him to her, as she slid his shirt off him and ran her hands up his thighs and under his kilt with a boldness she had not felt the first time she’d been with him. She loved him as she cradled his head to her breasts, her stomach, and every inch of her that his heated lips found. And when he entered her, desperate for the warmth and satisfaction that only she could provide him, she loved Robbie with a fierceness which ached so strongly it threatened to burst her heart.

She sheathed him as he moved inside her, and wrapped her legs around his narrow waist in a way that was both provocative and protective. His moans of ecstasy and sighs of pleasure were as music to her soul, stirring notes of longing that drove her own ecstasy higher and higher. And when he reached his climax, his desperate thrusts could not be deep enough, could not claim her enough. They broke her own climax which radiated through her like an unbearable energy.

She held him close as he collapsed onto her, trembling and panting heavily. His moist, hot breath caressed her sternum as he exhaled; his cheek nuzzled her breast, and in return she allowed her own cheek to nuzzle the top of his head.

She loved Robbie, and as desperately as she wanted to tell him, she knew she could not. It was not fear that he would not return her love that stopped her. It was the recognition that to love him was both foolish and dangerous.

And to
tell
him she loved him would serve no purpose.

Chapter 14

Jane left the small hut early—the light of a new day was just beginning to brighten the sky. Robbie, in his slumber, did not seem to want to let her go. The moment she stirred, his arms automatically tightened to prevent her from leaving him. With gentle coaxing and a promise that she would return as soon as she could, she placed a warm and tender kiss to his forehead and departed. A sense of sadness settled over her as she walked the bank of the forest brook, sadness at the return of day, at having to leave the man she loved for one she did not.

The moment she was in view of the castle, she saw that some sort of upheaval was going on. Riders galloped swiftly towards her—many riders, she saw; at least ten, and led by none other than Lord Reginald himself.

She halted in her tracks, and her blood froze in her veins; she felt as if she were outside her body, watching from afar.

“Jane, where have you been?” Lord Reginald demanded thunderously, slowing his destrier and his retinue as he approached.

Jane swallowed thickly. Her panic intensified as she took in his murderous expression. The noblemen and soldiers who rode with him glanced at each other furtively, their suspicion as clear as Lord Reginald’s.

“I-I could not sleep my Lord. I left a short while ago only to walk and to take in some air.”

“You left to walk in the dark, and none of the tower guards saw you?” he accused.

He did not believe her, nor did his accompanying riders. She would be a fool to think otherwise. Her stomach plummeted as he bent down from his destrier, speaking low so that he would not be heard by the others.

“I will deal with you later, girl. But for now, get you to the castle and stay there. MacGillivray has been about. A scrap of his plaid has been found—in
your
room, no less. I’ve an inkling that he’s broken into the castle intending to do you harm in order to strike his revenge at me.”

“The chief of clan Gillivray? H-How can you be sure it was he? Could it not have been a MacGillivray clansman?” Jane was wild with desperation, and her voice shook as she spoke.

“It was him,” Lord Reginald said, nodding his head in his conviction. “And he left his plaid as a warning to me. Now I’ll have no more from you; get yourself back to the castle. I’ll have my turn at you when I’ve caught the beast and hanged him from the castle walls.”

Jane felt as if her knees had turned to liquid. She watched, stunned and horrified, as the party rode off in search of Robbie.
Her
Robbie—the Robbie that she loved beyond any doubt or reason. They knew he was close. It would only be a matter of time before they found him.

And killed him.

She
had
to stop that from happening. She had to
warn
him. A surge of adrenaline shot through her body, jolting her muscles into action. She turned to the castle and ran like she had not run since she was a child, since she’d chased after Hugg in the open fields of her father’s estate, determined to catch him. Her legs pumped over the dirt road as Hugg’s would have, with blinding speed of which no man was capable.

Breathless and cold with fear, she tore through the main gatehouse, and through the bailey. Sprinting through the castle hallways and passages she burst through the door of her room where Ruth was there waiting for her, frantically pacing the floor and wringing her hands.

“Oh, my Lady,” she exclaimed upon beholding her mistress. “Thank the heavens you are safe. I’d thought for sure that MacGillivray beast had stolen you and harmed you. Oh, thank the Lord you are alright.”

Tears shone in the woman’s eyes as she embraced Jane, holding her close. Frantically, she pushed Ruth away.

“Ruth, what has happened?” she demanded. “How did his Lordship find the MacGillivray plaid in my chamber?”

“It was I who found it,” Ruth corrected, a note of triumph colouring her tone. “I saw it—it had been tucked into the bed frame with the corner sticking out. Lord Reginald believes it was a warning, and I daresay I think he’s right. That devil Scot wanted Dunloch to know he’d been here. He wished to frighten us.”