Highland Heat (26 page)

She ended up with Quinton sprawled on top of her. His chest labored as fast as hers to catch the breath they’d both lost. The bed creaked ominously before one of the ropes snapped, and they both fell through the frame to the floor.

The door burst inward; the men outside rushed in to investigate the crash.

Quinton laughed like a lunatic. He looked at her, assuring himself that the mattress had buffeted her fall before laughing louder.

“We need a better bed, lads!”

He reached through the frame and dragged his plaid over her before scooping her up in his arms.

“I know right where one is.”

He strode from the chamber without a care for the fact that he was bare arsed.

“I can walk, Quinton.”

He tilted his head but never slowed his pace. “Aye, but ye tend to take yerself places I’d rather ye did nae go. So I think I’ll keep ye for the moment.”

He descended the stairs and then walked through one of the hallways as bold as could be. Maids shrieked when they looked up to see him striding so confidently with nothing on but the plaid draped across her.

But it was the giggles following them that stoked her temper. Once the shock wore off, the inhabitants of Drumdeer enjoyed their laird’s antics full well.

“Ye’re doing this on purpose,” she accused him.

“Ye helped me break the bed ropes, lass. I remember it well, but if ye like, I can ask the lads what they think—”

“Do nae ye dare,” she hissed and reached for the plaid that was slipping all around her with the motion of Quinton’s pace.

He climbed several flights of stairs before entering a chamber that was without a doubt the master’s. He tossed her on the bed and jumped on it at the same time. She yelped, but the ropes only groaned slightly, in spite of the way he continued to test them by jumping.

“Stop it, Quinton. I trust yer word on the matter.”

He sat back on his hunches, his expression growing serious.

“But ye do nae trust me on any other matter. Now that’s the truth, is it nae?”

She sat up but hugged the plaid close to cover herself. “Oh… do nae be demanding something from me that ye refuse to grant me in return.”

“What are ye talking about, woman? I gave ye everything, and ye ran away as though I’d insulted ye.”

He left the bed and walked to a table that stood against one wall. There was a glass bottle there, which he grabbed without any concern for how rare such glass was. He yanked the leather cap off its narrow top and poured a measure of dark liquid into a goblet.

“Ye did insult me when ye so boldly announced I was yer mistress.”

He swallowed and shook his head. “We’d spent the night together, proving that ye’re just as attracted to me as I am to ye. Damn and curse yer stubborn nature, Deirdre. Ye cannae deny the heat that burns between us.”

“That does nae mean ye may assume something like that without asking me if I agree.” She tossed off the plaid and stood. He was distracted by the sight of her so boldly walking nude across his chamber. A tiny surge of power went through her, and she reached for another goblet and held it up for some of the wine he was drinking. “Ye are nae my master, Quinton Cameron.”

He offered her the wine, accompanied by a low chuckle that promised her a battle. But he replaced the cap and watched her take a long drink of wine.

“That’s a discussion I would be happy to have with ye, as often as ye demand it of me.”

There was no mistaking the fact that he planned to have those conversations in his bed. He placed his goblet on the tabletop and offered her a grin that sent a shiver down her back, but her pride refused to yield.

“Our troubles are nae in bed, Quinton.”

He reached for the goblet and drained it. “Agreement between us, at last.”

Deirdre lifted the wine but wrinkled her nose when she inhaled its scent. Her belly turned queasy, and she hastily set the goblet down.

“Ye do nae care for French wine?”

“No’ tonight, it seems.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling chilled. Quinton scooped her up before she realized his intention.

“Stop carrying me about, Quinton.”

He placed her in the bed and covered her with the blankets, no remorse in his eyes at all.

“I find a certain satisfaction in knowing exactly where ye are, Deirdre.”

He stood and walked toward the door.

“That does nae mean ye may keep me in that solar like some exotic animal ye’ve decided to keep as yer pet.”

He shot her a hard look before opening the door. “Bring us something for supper. Anything the cook has hot will be welcome, and a drink for the lady. She cares nae for wine.”

He closed the door with a hard shove before turning to contemplate her. She suddenly didn’t care for how vulnerable she felt lying in his bed. She pushed at the bedding and heard him growl. A moment later he was sitting on the bedding, trapping her in the process.

“What is yer quarrel with enjoying what I give ye, Deirdre? Do ye fancy walking among those who might harm ye?”

“Nay,” she announced as she struggled to sit up, and then hissed when she realized his attention had shifted to her bare breasts the moment she achieved her goal.

“Are ye now going to tell me ye want to argue about the fact that I enjoy the sight of ye, woman?”

“Nay.”

“No… no… Do nae ye have anything else to say?” He propped his hands on either side of her, pinning her against the headboard. “I would have killed to regain ye.”

He smothered a word of profanity and pushed away from the bed. He gave her his back, hiding his emotions.

“Well… I do nae want that either, but I’m grateful ye took me away from the Douglas.”

He stared silently at her, and his face was flushed. “How could ye go to the Douglas, Deirdre? Do ye detest me so much ye felt ye needed the protection of another earl?” Betrayal edged his words, and she felt each one like a dagger.

“I did nae go to the Douglas…”

He snorted and turned his back on her once more.

“Do nae ye dare give me yer back, Quinton Cameron. Ye’ll hear what I have to say.” She kicked the bedding off and stood. He turned to face her the second her feet slapped against the floor. Rage flickered in his eyes, but she faced it without flinching.

“I did escape yer castle, but I was on me way to take me place with the queen when Kagan Hay found me.”

“Are ye saying that bastard gave ye to the Douglas?” Rage had flickered in his eyes before, but now, his tone was deadly.

“It was nae like that.” He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand, and he shut it with a snarl. He turned and pulled a door open on a wardrobe that stood off to one side and tossed one of his shirts at her. She shrugged into it and rolled up the cuffs because the sleeves were so long.

“Now, tell me how it went before I set me mind to killing the wrong man.”

He was trying to listen to her. Maybe it wasn’t about whether she was his mistress, but it was the beginning of a better relationship between them.

“I failed to notice there was a shield on the sleeve of the overrobe I wore.”

“Aye, they were made for me bride, and the details were nae overlooked, even if her honor was lacking.” He suddenly frowned. “Did Laird Hay suspect ye of wearing my shield under false pretenses?”

Deirdre nodded, earning a snicker from Quinton, who seemed perfectly at ease in nothing but his skin. He sat down and took up his wine once more. “A laird has to think of things like that, lass. Another good reason for ye no’ to be traveling alone.”

She didn’t care for the way he was justifying his actions.

“Nor does it make it right for ye to have locked me up.”

Quinton sat forward, but Deirdre stopped him with a single raised finger. “Do ye want to hear the rest of this tale or nae?” There was a glimmer of something in his eyes that promised her retribution later, but he nodded. “Laird Hay took me with him to have someone he knew tell him if I’d lied about my name. Someone who had known me as a child…”

She suddenly paused, looking down as she considered Ruth and the secret she now knew about her half sisters.

“He took ye to see his aunt Ruth.”

Deirdre lifted her attention again. “Ye knew about her?”

Quinton didn’t falter when he answered. “And yer half sister. I know about her.”

“Well, why did nae anyone ever tell me?” she muttered with exasperation.

Quinton chuckled. “Most fathers don’t share news about their bastards with their legitimate children—or at least the daughters.”

Someone rapped on the door, and Quinton called out, “Enter.”

The timing was perfect, for she chewed on the knowledge of Erlina and the second daughter Ruth had birthed. It was her duty to tell her father, but she battled with whether she should leave Ruth in peace.

Supper was simple, but her belly grumbled as she smelled the porridge a sleepy-eyed maid had placed in front of her. It had to be past midnight, and the meal was an odd assortment of things. A wedge of cheese, fresh spring berries, and bread that must have been baked that morning. Quinton wasn’t interested in the food. The moment the door closed, he began questioning her again.

“What are ye hiding now, Deirdre?”

She faced him with a frown. “Why do ye always assume that ye have the right to know what I’m thinking?”

One of his dark eyebrows rose. “So we’re back to that, are we? Yer list of things that I am no’. I am no’ yer father—thank Christ for that, considering how much I enjoy being between yer thighs.”

Deirdre growled at him, “Do nae be blasphemous. We are sinning enough to tempt heaven’s wrath.”

She began to eat the porridge, too hungry to care if the man was unhappy about her attitude. He toyed with the round of bread but ate little of it, while she scraped her bowl clean.

“So is that why ye left me? Because ye cannae bear the sin of being me mistress? Is that why ye deserted the protection this castle grants ye without any idea where ye were going?”

His tone was quiet now, and she realized it mattered to him if she was ashamed of their relationship.

“I told ye that the queen had sent for me.”

“Told me how?” His tone expressed his disbelief, but also the fact that she’d wounded him.

“I left ye a letter.”

She suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him, and she quivered because she realized her words had the power to do so.

“I left because I cannae shame me father.” She stood, feeling caged by the walls. “I am sick unto death of nae being trusted. And why… because… because the men of this world all think a woman should be innocent and chaste until the day she weds. Then she must become the opposite and please her husband, or suffer his mistresses… oh… ye will never understand.”

She paced in a circle, unable to look at the brooding man who watched her and judged her. He’d happily lie with her, but not allow her the choice to remain by his side.

Choice—she’d left the abbey seeking it…

The chamber went dark, the candles being pinched out. Her skin prickled with awareness as she turned in a circle to try to see Quinton. He was there, and she could feel him closing in on her. She yearned to have him near, and yet that close proximity frustrated her. Her feelings were in a tangled mess anytime he was about, but it was worse when they were separated.

His arms suddenly encircled her, pulling her close and keeping her confined when she wiggled. He stood behind her, his hands soothing her with long strokes as she failed to contain the tears that felt like they were falling from her heart.

“I understand, lass…ye’re sick of being told yer very nature is wicked. Ye’re wrong about me no’ understanding that. I do, for there’ve been too many times I’ve listened to the same accusation. Dawn will be soon enough for us to argue about what place ye have here. For tonight, it’s beside me, and that pleases me greatly.” He placed a warm, soft kiss against her neck. “I need it to please ye too.”

She shivered, sliding her hands along his forearms, each fingertip delighting in the feel of his body so close to her own. She savored the moment, smiling as she heard him inhale the scent of her hair. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her back, and it fed the need that had gnawed at her since she left him.

“It pleases me, Quinton.”

He picked her up and carried her to his bed. He joined her, snuggling against her as she tried to roll away and sort out her feelings. Quinton refused her that space, and somehow, the darkness made it acceptable to cling to him. Exhaustion claimed her, and she slept, but her dreams were full of questions that she didn’t have good answers for.

***

Quinton left Deirdre sleeping in his bed. It was a relief to see her head pillowed on the creamy linen he’d slept on too.

“Coalan, I’ve a task for ye.”

His captain was waiting outside his chamber for him.

“Deirdre claims she left a letter for me.” Quinton shot a hard look at his man. “Find out what became of it, but do so quietly.”

“Aye, Laird.”

Every castle had its spies, and Quinton wasn’t prideful enough to think his own holding was an exception. If anything, there were men who had reason to watch him simply because noble titles were becoming so scarce. It was a fact that he lived with, but he’d be damned if he’d allow them to manipulate Deirdre.

He would slit their damned throats first.

***

“Shh…”

Deirdre wrinkled her nose; she was still tired, but her mind refused to let her return to slumber now that she knew there was someone nearby. She opened her eyes and heard feet shuffling. Thick bed curtains enclosed her. The bed was huge, and her memory returned in a rush. Quinton was long gone, but someone was moving around the chamber. She reached out and moved the curtain a tiny amount to see who it was, because she was still wearing only Quinton’s shirt.

“Good morning, Lady Deirdre.” Amber stood directing two other girls who were cleaning away the remains of the meal she’d shared with Quinton. “I’m sorry if we disturbed ye, but there are a great many who are waiting to see ye, if ye are ready to rise. The laird said yer duties might wait a bit this first day since ye arrived so late last night. That has no’ stopped the Cameron women from hurrying here to gain some of yer time.”