Devil in a Kilt (31 page)

The
English knight took a slow sip of his wine, carefully studying Duncan across
the pewter chalice as he drank.

Duncan
squirmed under his friend's sharp perusal. Saints, the man could unnerve him!

Setting
down his chalice as carefully as he'd partaken of his wine, Marmaduke asked,
"And does she not stir your emotions as well?"

"By
the Rood!" Duncan jumped to his feet. For a long moment he stared up at
the vaulted ceiling. When he looked back at Marmaduke, the lout wore one of his
knowing grins. "I dinna have emotions, so wipe that cunning smirk off
your ugly face. ‘Tis her
body
I desire. Such urges are natural and have
naught to do with love."

Marmaduke's
smile faded. "And did you tell her that?"

Duncan
withheld the answer. Instead he drew a long, frustrated breath, then lowered
himself into his chair. The accuracy of the Sassunach's words had hit him as if
he'd been dealt a blow.

Aye,
the truth stung.

"So
that's the way of it."

Although
it vexed him to admit it, Duncan locked his gaze with his friend's and nodded.

"Do
you wish to talk about it?" Marmaduke asked, and Duncan heard the
sincerity of his concern. "Mayhap, together, we can find a way to undo the
damage you've wrought."

"You
are a dreamer, English. Do you not realize what I'm saying?" Lowering his
voice lest anyone else hear, Duncan said, "I robbed her of her maidenhead,
initiated her in the pleasures of carnal desire, then, when she turned those
damned eyes of hers on me—all soft and adoring—I panicked and told her I wanted
naught but an occasional dip into the woman's flesh betwixt her thighs!"

"Pray
tell me you did not use those words?"

"Not
exactly, but I injured her feelings all the same." Duncan pressed his
fingers against his temples. Just thinking of the callous way he'd treated her
made his head ache. "She turned her back on me, Strongbow. I killed
something inside her, do you understand?"

"Then
you have no choice but to make amends ... convince her you did not mean what
you said. Show her you do care."

"But
I do not," Duncan argued, feeling the weight of the cold, damp air
pressing against his chest, curling around his neck as if to suffocate him,
steal his very breath. "It
is
only taking my ease with her I care
about. I canna tell her I love her when I do not. To do so would be a
lie."

Marmaduke
said nothing.

"I
willna lie to her," Duncan insisted.

"Mayhap
not," Marmaduke conceded, the look in his single eye, penetrating and
wise. "But there are other things as ignoble."

"Such
as?" Duncan asked, knowing he'd regret the answer.

"Lying
to oneself."

With
that, the English knight stood. He took a last draught of his wine, wiped his
mouth, then strode from the hall without a backward glance.

Duncan
stared after him, feeling soundly chastised. Faith, the all-knowing churl
should've been a holy man, so good ‘twas he at instilling guilt in the
innocent.

But,
Duncan admitted with a dark scowl, he wasn't an innocent.

He
was a bastard.

Worse,
he'd become a liar.

The
most despicable liar in the Highlands.

Linnet
woke to a dull ache between her thighs. Curling herself into a ball, she
hugged her knees and shut her eyes, willing away the throbbing pain.

But
the ache persisted, and sleep would not return.

Nor
could she deny the weak bands of sunlight filtering through the shutter slats.
‘Twas morn... the morning after she'd lost her maidenhood, her heart,
and
all
hopes of ever winning her husband's affection.

Refusing
to give heed to the urge to pull the covers back over her head and ignore the
day, she quickly scanned the room, making certain
he
was truly gone and
not lurking in some dark corner, waiting for her to awaken so he could continue
his lecture on the glories of bodily lust.

But
the chamber was empty, she was indeed alone.

Linnet
shuddered, feeling utterly used and betrayed.

Angry,
too, because, despite everything, she couldn't deny the sharp stab of
disappointment she'd felt upon discovering he'd already slipped from the room.

Stiffly,
for it seemed every bone and muscle in her body ached, she climbed from bed and
dressed as quickly as she could. With luck, she could pass unnoticed through
the hall and spend the day in her herbarium.

Or
perhaps she'd try to sneak past the sentries at the gate so she could walk in
peace along the shore?

Naught
would please her more than a pleasant stroll on the shingled banks of Loch
Duich, where the towering castle walls would keep her well hidden from prying
eyes and wagging tongues.

But
all plans for a day spent in blessed solitude vanished the moment she pulled
open the bedchamber door, stepped out, and collided with
him.

"Saints,
woman!" he exploded, trying to balance a large wooden tray of food.
"Can you not watch where you're going?"

Linnet
shrank back at his scowling countenance. "I vow, sir, I could not have
known you'd be standing before the door."

Striding
past her into the room, he set the heavy tray on a small table near the hearth.
"I've brought victuals to break your fast. Oatcakes and a jug of fresh
buttermilk." He folded his arms over his chest and frowned when she
remained by the door. "Are you not hungry?"

"Aye,"
she admitted, uncomfortable under his gaze. "But I could have eaten in the
hall. There was no need for you to fetch my breakfast."

He
made a gruff noise, then pulled out a chair for her. "The fare in the hall
wasna fit for the alms dish," he explained, obviously waiting for her to
take her seat. "Besides, I... ah ... thought you'd prefer to dine alone
this morn."

Unsure
of the motive for his gesture of courtesy, Linnet crossed the room. Mayhap he
wanted to keep her from the hall? Hide her away as he did Robbie?

Was
he afeared his men would be able to read her expression and see aught was not
well between them?

More
disturbing, could
he
see what troubled her?

Was
it writ upon her face that her heart was breaking? That he'd taken her to the
dizzying heights of all her hopes and dreams, only to let her crash to the
ground, her most secret desires scattered around her like shards of broken
pottery?

Avoiding
his eyes, she sat and carefully poured herself a cup of buttermilk.
"Thank you," she said quietly, keeping her head down, purposely
avoiding his stern scrutiny. "‘Twas thoughtful of you."

"Nay,"
he said, stepping forward and reaching toward her, then letting his hand drop,
as if embarrassed he'd dare attempt to touch her. "‘Tis as it should be
and... and... not good enough. ‘Tis more you deserve for what you gave me
yestereve. I should have brought you a length of the finest cloth and a chest
overflowing with jewels. I... ‘Tis... oh, by the saints, lady," he
blurted, yet another frown creasing his brow. "Can you not see I am not
adept at fancy words?"

"I've
no need for fancy words." She glanced up at last, surprised by the deep
flush coloring her husband's handsome face. "Noble gowns and glittering
gemstones mean little to me."

He
reached toward her again, this time smoothing the backs of his fingers down her
hair. The light caress sent a sharp jolt through her and made her pulse
quicken.

"Have
you naught what requires your attention?" she asked coolly, hoping he'd
leave her be whilst at the same time wishing he'd touch her again.

Faith
and mercy, she wished he'd do more than simply run his hand o'er her tresses.

A
strange look entered his deep blue eyes. "Aye, there is a matter of
importance I must tend to," he said, taking the seat opposite her, his
intense gaze holding her captive. "‘Tis why I am here."

"Oh?"

He
nodded, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a seductive smile. "A
matter of utmost importance."

"I
do not understand," Linnet hedged, half-afraid to listen further. Tearing
her gaze away, she turned her attention to the food before her.

Anything
but lose herself in the depths of his bone-melting gaze, anything but abandon
her heart to the whim of a devil's beguiling smile.

But
already, that warm, soft feeling was spreading through her limbs, pooling in
her belly, and making her all too aware of the strange power he held over her.

Worried
he'd sense what she felt, and before she could regret the consequences, she
blurted, "Be the 'matter of importance' that you wish to quench your
bodily lust again? If so, I'll disrobe and spread my legs at once ... I ken
‘tis my duty."

Duncan
shot to his feet so fast he knocked over the jug of buttermilk. For a brief
moment, he stared aghast at the thick liquid spilling over the table edge onto
the rushes, then, with one great swipe of his arm, he sent the earthen jug and
all else upon the table to the floor.

Linnet
jumped up, too. Extending her arms before her, she began backing away from him.
But he caught up with her in two quick strides, seizing her by the shoulders
and pulling her roughly against his chest.

"Must
you e'er vex me?" he railed, fair lifting her off her feet. "‘Twas to
apologize I came! To repay you—"

"For
what? My
services!"
Linnet countered, her voice a mere squeak, for
he held her so tightly the neckline of her gown dug painfully into her throat.
"The same as you'd pay for the favors of a stewhouse harlot?"

"Nay!
‘Tis my
wife
you are. Dinna twist my words. I've told you I'm not good
at pretty speeches." Letting go of her suddenly, he ran both hands through
his hair, the gesture making him appear more desperate than angry. "You do
not understand. I did not mean to hurt you. I—"

With
trembling fingers, Linnet tugged her gown into place. "You're mistaken,
sirrah. I do understand. ‘Tis well I ken you did not mean to cause me undue
pain."

"I—dinna—mean—
that
—kind—of—pain,"
he bit out, emphasizing each word. "And I think you know it. I meant it
wasn't my intent to injure your
feelings"

Linnet's
heart turned over at his awkward attempt at apologizing, and at the sincerity
in his eyes. Even so, she didn't dare make overmuch of aught he said or did.

He'd
expressed his true opinion of her, of their marriage, the night before.

Squaring
her shoulders, she fought to dispel the sweet sensations his nearness aroused
in her. "I thought feelings held no interest for you?"

Taking
her firmly by the shoulders, Duncan said, "I do care for you,
Linnet."

"So
you said." Waxing bolder than she would've thought she'd dare, she pressed
on, "You care for me as a man cares for a finely honed sword or an
obedient and worthy steed."

Duncan's
face suffused a deep scarlet. "By the Rood, wench, can you not see I am
trying to make amends? Have a care lest you taunt me too much. My patience has
already been sorely tested this day."

A
sharp rap upon the closed door spared her having to reply. Without further
acknowledging her, Duncan strode across the room and yanked the door wide.
Three young pages entered, each carrying leather pails of water.

A
fourth, a wee lad no older than Robbie, carried a small wooden stool.

Two
squires followed, one with a large wooden cooper's tub held before him, the
other with a stack of folded linen toweling piled high in his arms.

"I
ordered a bath brought up for you," Duncan said gruffly. Following the
pages to the hearth, he dipped his hand in one of the buckets. "The water
has been heated below, but ‘Tis not overly warm. I'll stoke the fire so you do
not overchill yourself."

Linnet
refrained from giving vent to a bitter laugh. The only thing in the room
capable of chilling her was the cold expression on her lord husband's face.

Arms
folded across his chest, his jaw rigidly set, he silently watched the young
servitors line the tub with a huge length of linen, place the tiny stool
inside, and drape it, too, with a linen cloth, before they began pouring
rose-scented water into the bath.

When
they were done, he dismissed them with a stern nod.

Heavens,
but he appeared chiseled from granite! ‘Twas no wonder the young pages scurried
from the room, anxious to be gone, the older squires not far behind them.

They'd
surely sensed the tense atmosphere hanging in the air. ‘Twas so thick Linnet
could almost taste its bitterness on her lips. Sweet Mary have pity on her,
even the brisk draught of damp morning air blowing in through the opened
windows wasn't as frigid as the look her husband wore.

‘Twas
a foul expression she'd no doubt put there with her artless manner and loose
tongue.