Devil in a Kilt (12 page)

Her
breath caught in her throat at the brief contact. ‘Twas
that
part of
him, she was sure.

What
else could fair scorch her through the linen sheet she'd wrapped around herself
several times over?

What
else would send tingles all the way to her toes?

What
else indeed but that mysteriously masculine part of him he meant to keep from
her.

"Come,"
he said close to her ear, his breath wanning her cheek. "I'll guide you to
bed," he added, his voice steady and firm...
normal.

As
if he hadn't realized what part of him had just touched her so intimately.

Or,
mayhap closer to the truth, he simply didn't care.

Linnet
yanked her arm from his grasp. "I canna yet sleep."

"And
neither can I if you dinna cease poltering about," Duncan grumbled,
snatching back her arm and pulling her forward.

Linnet
dug her heels into the rushes. "Then I shall sit in the chair by the
fire."

"By
the Rood, wench, ‘tis cold, I am weary, and my head aches. Dinna rile me
further." Fair dragging her to the bed, he flung back the covers.
"Climb in. I willna touch you if that's what's bothering you."

She
bristled at his harshly spoken words, but scrambled onto the bed, quickly
scooting to the far side and drawing the coverlet to her chin.

To
her surprise, rather than getting into bed himself, he hastened to the wall
where he took down one of the hanging tapestries. As she looked on, he spread
the heavy cloth on the floor and began rolling it up.

"What...
what are you doing?" Linnet asked from the bed, although his intentions
became humiliatingly clear as he carried the unwieldy column closer and plunked
it down in the middle of the bed.

"Naught
but assuring myself an undisturbed night's rest," he said, then settled
himself onto the bed... on the other side of the tapestry barrier. "After
this night, I shall sleep in my own chamber, and you will not be disturbed."

Feeling
chastised and as insignificant as if he'd just informed her he found her less
appealing than a gray mouse, Linnet lay stiff and quiet, fearing the slightest
movement or sound would only serve to further inflame his ill humor.

Merciful
saints, did he think she'd fall upon him in the night?

Would
that she had the courage to flee.

Exit
the chamber and seek refuge elsewhere.

She
would, too, were it not for the boy.

For
his sake, she remained motionless, not daring to even take a deep breath lest
she disturb her husband.

If
she meant to help Robbie, she must achieve some semblance of a relationship
with his father.

Even
if that meant suffering through such indignities as knowing he'd likely prefer
taking a ewe to bed than her.

Aye,
her own feelings mattered scarce little.

Besides,
she was used to being unloved.

But
for the good of the lad, she must be strong. Duncan MacKenzie could bully her
to the gates of hell and beyond, she wouldn't reveal what she knew about Robbie
unless he softened toward the boy.

Until
then, she'd maintain a firm stance, anger him if need be. His opinion of her
wasn't of consequence.

‘Twas
the lad who needed him, not her.

Linnet
swallowed the long sigh that almost escaped her lips. Could she e'er bring her
husband to accept Robbie?

To
admit his love for the child?

Afore
he learned the truth? Her husband should love Robbie for himself...
regardless of whether he'd sired the lad or nay.

Such
was her goal, but could she achieve it?

She
did not know, but she meant to try. Even if the effort cost her last breath.

Outside,
wind caught the shutter of one of the windows, slamming it against the tower
with a mighty bang that echoed and reechoed in the shadowy chamber.

Linnet
sat up with a start, coming instantly awake and realizing she must've fallen
asleep despite her doubts of being able to do so. Pearly gray moonlight shone
through the one unshuttered window, bathing the room in a silvery glow.

She
shot a glance at the man beside her, half-afraid the loud noise might've
startled him awake, too, but he slept soundly, his breathing deep and regular.

Indeed,
he appeared completely at ease, without a care, as he lay sprawled in
resplendent nakedness across his side of the bed.

Despite
herself, her gaze sought and rested upon his sex, relaxed now, yet no less
imposing in its dark virility. As she stared, an exquisite warmth began to
curl languidly through her belly.

An
aching, pulsing heat that intensified the longer she looked upon him.

Heat
stole into her cheeks as well, and, embarrassed, she tore her gaze away. Very
slowly, the pulsing warmth in her most feminine core ebbed, and the room's damp
chill claimed her once more.

Only
now she felt empty as well as cold.

Bereft
and hollow, as if for a brief moment, she'd had something unique and wonderful
in her grasp, only to have it cruelly ripped away from her.

A
very faint fluttering still rippled through her and, instinctively, she pressed
her thighs together to ease the ache she didn't understand.

She
wanted naught to do with such stirrings.

Not
from a man who did not want her.

A
man she aught despise for his name alone, lest all his other shortcomings.

To
her great relief, anger gradually replaced the disturbing sensations gazing at
his nakedness had aroused in her.

Praise
God he hadn't awakened and caught her eyeing him.

Would
he have been able to tell her belly had gone liquid and warm at the sight of
his virility, his blatant maleness?

Could
he have guessed how she'd yearned to reach out and touch him?

She
shuddered.

The
possibility he might be able to read her thoughts was unthinkable.

Shaming.

She
would've died of mortification.

Another
loud bang reverberated around the room as the wind once more flung the loose
shutter against the tower wall. This time her husband gave a slight groan and
rolled onto his side.

Not
wishing to risk his waking, Linnet crept from the bed as carefully as she could
and refastened the loose shutter. To her alarm, the rusty latch made a loud
grating noise that brought another mumbled groan from the direction of the
bed.

Linnet
froze in place, her hands on the cold metal latch, determined not to move until
she was certain he slept soundly again. Fortune was with her. The sound of his
gentle snores soon blended with the hollow whistle of the wind, the patter of
rain, and the low drone of nesting bees.

Nesting
bees?

The
tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled, standing suddenly on end as unease
crept up her spine.

She'd
not noticed so much as a spider in the chamber. Nor had she seen signs of bugs
or vermin in the floor rushes. Truth to tell, they appeared newly strewn. Someone
had even scented them with fresh meadowsweet.

Had
the bees swarmed into the room to escape the rain? Warily, lest she make a
noise, she drew her husband's blue-and-green plaid off a chairback and draped
it loosely around her shoulders against the chill as she cautiously scanned the
chamber for the bees.

Her
gaze darted about, but she saw naught.

Even
though the whirring noise grew so loud her temples began to throb.

The
room was empty.

Nothing
moved save the shadows dancing along the walls.

With
dawning comprehension, Linnet stared at the oddly elongated shadows, watching as
they took shape, forming themselves into a copse of pine trees.

The
buzzing reached a piercing level, hurting her ears. Then a cloud of mist rose
up from the floor, its shifting tendrils blocking out all but the circle of
pines ... and the bed.

Fear
constricted her throat, and her heart slammed against her chest as beads of
moisture sprang onto her forehead. ‘Twas only a vision, only a vision, she repeated
to herself, trying desperately to cling to the knowledge it'd pass in a moment.

They
always did.

But
this one was different.

Different,
yet frighteningly familiar.

Biting
her lower lip till she tasted blood, Linnet struggled to stifle the scream
building inside her. She mustn't cry out, mustn't awaken her husband.

Her
lot with him was precarious enough without him seeing her in the throes of one
of her fits, as her da called them.

Biting
harder on her lip, she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the vision would
dissipate by the time she opened them again. But the pressure in her head and
the humming in her ears only increased.

She
had to look.

The
nightmare wouldn't end until she did.

Dread
consumed her, pressing the breath from her lungs, but she opened her eyes and
sent her gaze where it had to go.

Straight
through the mist to the prone shape stretched upon her bed.

The
image there beseeched her with eyes so filled with pain and sorrow their
powerful impact near bent her double.

‘Twas
the black stag.

The
beast whose heart had been ripped from its body.

Blood
ran down her chin as her teeth sank deeper into her lip, filling her mouth with
a brassy, metallic taste.

She
tried to look away, but couldn't. Frozen in place, bound by a force stronger
than she, Linnet watched the terrifying spectacle unfold.

Then
the wretched creature on the bed shifted, changing shape as she'd known it
would. Before her eyes, the stag became the man.

One
whose identity she now knew.

Her
husband.

The
man without a heart.

And
like the beast, Duncan MacKenzie beseeched her with his eyes.

Troubled
eyes holding her spellbound, forbidding her to look elsewhere.

As
before, he reached for her with blood-soaked hands. But this time his mouth
worked soundlessly, forming silent words whilst his tormented gaze held her
captive.

"Please
... I need ..." he pleaded, his voice raw, broken.

His
anguish wrapped itself around her, suffocating her in a stranglehold from which
she couldn't break free. She could only stand immovable as stone and pray the
vision end soon lest she perish from fright.

"Please
..
." he said again, but the word faded, ending on
a ragged gasp.

The
mists dissipated, too. No longer dense, the thin, curling wisps receded into
the floor whence they'd come. And the tall shadows against the walls were once
again just that, shadows.

Gone,
the dark copse of trees she'd seen but moments before.

She
still heard the whirring noise but it, too, lessened as the normal night
sounds returned: the light patter of rain against the closed shutters and the
sigh of the wind chasing away the unholy drone that accompanied such
visitations.

Only
he
lingered on, his ravaged state growing in terrifying clarity with
each breath she took, his anguish a living thing.

‘Twas
so real she could smell the blood gushing from the wound in his chest, almost
feel the damp warmth of the deep red stains on the bedclothes, hear his
lifeblood dripping onto the floor, where it formed a pool, staining the rushes.

Aye,
‘Twas real.

Too
real.

Linnet's
fingers dug into the plaid, holding it tight as if its nubby wool could shield
her from the nightmare before her.

In
desperation, she turned away, staring instead at the tightly shuttered windows.
She must keep her wits, dared not do aught to awaken her husband.

Or
shatter the frightening image.

Ill
tidings came to those who tampered with visions such as hers.

A
soft rustling sound made her glance fearfully back to the bed. To her horror,
she saw he'd moved, raised himself up on his elbows.

Pinning
her with his stare, he struggled to speak, but his mouth only formed silent
words.

And
he tried to lean forward.

Why?
To reach her?

A shudder
passed through her at the thought. Pure terror welled inside her, demanding
release. Trembling, she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Then
he spoke.

Garbled
words she couldn't understand.

With
tremendous effort, he took a deep breath, holding it within as if to gather
strength before he released the air on a rush.