One Snowy Knight (25 page)

“Noel, your back?” she fretted.

“At this moment I feel little other than the need of you.” He smiled as she blinked, confused until his hips bucked. “Ride me.”

His sensual mouth curved into a grin as he pushed upward within her again. It caused Skena to reach her pleasure that quickly.

She shuddered. “Tis like…shooting stars in my mind. Have…mercy.”

Her internal muscles rippled along the length of his flesh, fisted about him. “Aye, sweet mercy,” he agreed.

But mercy was not what he had in mind. He reared up and wrapped his arms about her back, driving relentlessly into her again and again, each explosion building into another. His back bowed, as his body slammed against hers, harder, more frantic, until she could only obey his command and follow him into the dark storm.

Skena held back nothing, yielded everything to him. It was not enough. He demanded more and she gave. He wanted her physical release…but he wanted to burn her heart, brand her. Dark words of love he whispered to her, weaving his own magic.

He kissed her. No gentle kiss of worship, this kiss was full of the passion, born of the fire of their coming together. Skena wanted to burn. And burn her he did!

The perfection of being within her, knowing their joining was done with love, moved Noel so profoundly that he could hardly draw air.

He rained kisses over her face, gasping. “Oh, sweet Skena, I love you….”

“Do I still get my kissing lessons later?” Skena asked as she tugged the kirtle on over her head.

Lacing up his hose, he leaned to slap her on the arse. “Greedy wench. ’Tis not enough you have made me a late riser this morn, already you beg for more kissing lessons. Never satisfied.”

Taking hold of her hips, Noel pulled her close. He intended to give her a proper kiss good morning, only the knock at the door caused him to groan in frustration. “’Tis not the children. They never knock,” he teased. Going to the door, he opened it to find Guillaume holding a pail of water.

“I am reduced to playing squire for you. I ordered you hot water to shave and told that sour faced cook to have it sent up. He told me to take it myself.”

“Leave my cook alone. He knows the art of seasoning.” Noel took the bucket. “My thanks, Squire Guillaume.”

“Do not tarry. I am most eager to enjoy this morning’s work.” With a wicked grin, Guillaume sauntered off down the hall.

Noel closed the door and went to the table in the far corner, pouring hot water into the bowl.

Skena set to straighten out the bedding. “And what is this morning’s work? You are not going out hunting again? You said you would rest and allow your back to heal properly.”

“No venturing outside the pale this day. We plan to boot Duncan Comyn out the gates of Craigendan, then we shall have done with his mumming at being a ghost. I little understand what he hopes to achieve, but enough is enough.”

Skena picked up his mantle from the foot of the bed and folded it carefully. She paused, fascinated with watching him lather and scrape his face with the razor-edged knife. “I have never seen a man do that before. Does it hurt?”

“Only if the knife is dull or the hand is shaky,” he chuckled.

“I like seeing your face, mind,” she reached out and ran two fingers over his newly clean shaven cheek, “but why do you do it?”

“I mislike a beard. Itchy. Hard to keep clean. In winter, where the vapors from your nose hit it, they can actually form icicles. In summer they are hot. Besides, ’tis better, more pleasurable for kissing lessons.” His thumb stroked her chin, which showed dark abrasions from their loving. “Also, ’tis easier on your tender skin. From now on, I shall shave before you get to enjoy kissing lessons.”

“I will put some of Bessa’s healing salve on the marks.” She blinked away her rapture, her mind returning to their former topic. “I wish Duncan to perdition, if that is possible, but what is this about him and ghosts?”

“I would think it obvious. Have you noticed men of similar coloring, build, and wearing beards oft appear very much alike? Especially in poor light. I believe Duncan is your ghost of Angus, Skena. I have not figured out what he hopes to achieve, but he showed up around the time you started seeing Angus. Too much of a coincidence.” He wiped the knife on a cloth and stuck it back in the sheath, then leaned over the bowl to wash the remaining soap from his face. “I never had a moment to tell you what we found yesterday when we hunted. Someone has been sheltering in the woods. There was clear evidence of crude refuge. Of course, there is the off chance it might be a runaway serf, who has taken to the woods to live off the land rather than under the hand of his master. Only, I find it telling someone was lurking about Craigendan right before the sightings of your ghost started.”

Skena exhaled impatience, mayhap laced with fear. “I keep telling you that it is Angus. Duncan would have no reason to scare or harm me with the pretence of being my dead husband come back to life. It makes no sense.”

“He wants Craigendan—and you,” he stated flatly.

“Listen to yourself. He cannot gain possession of Craigendan if something happens to me. The property would go to Andrew….” Her words trailed off as panic flashed in her eyes.

“Andrew is too young to hold the fief. Who would shoulder that responsibility?” He wiped his face with a cloth and then stared at her. “Well?”

“I am thinking. Generally, it would go to the closest male to hold for Andrew. Since there are none, I would assume it would fall to Julian Challon to foster my son, to set a protector for Andrew if something happened to me.” Skena went to the bench and sat. “I still do not see what all this has to do with Duncan.”

“Men oft lose reason when their pale aims are thwarted,” Noel insisted. “Ponder upon his brother, Phelan. He set an ambush to kill Damian and Julian as they returned from Berwick. His greed, his taste for revenge pushed him to madness. What says this taint does not also fester in Duncan’s mind?”

She stared at him, her large eyes haunted. “I have no leaning to defend Duncan, for I would put little past him, only I see little purpose for his tormenting me as a means to win him Craigendan. ’Tis Angus. Not his ghost. Dorcas insisted he was alive. Surely, it was him living in the wood?”

“Why hide? Would he not just return here openly?” he countered.

“Mayhap he heard Edward had given you Craigendan. This was no sudden thing, you said. He awarded you the charter months ago. The wound kept you from coming to claim it. Perchance Angus heard of this whilst he was healing and hid in the wood to spy, find out what the situation was at Craigendan before revealing himself to anyone. If that is so, then he would contact Dorcas first. She would aid him, sneak him food and information. Ask her. She is a terrible liar, worse than Duncan. She gives you this blank stare and does not bat an eye if she lies. Foolish woman thinks that makes her appear innocent. Force her to tell you where he is.”

“Skena, cease this foolishness. Angus is not hiding anywhere. He is dead.” Noel dumped the water from the bowl into the slop bucket.

He wished he had some logical reasons to offer as to why Comyn was playing this evil game, so Skena’s mind would accept it. Her believing it was Angus only put her in danger. The more he argued it could not be Angus, the stronger Skena insisted it was. He could end her suspicions once and for all. Three simple words would stop all concerns of Fadden’s having risen from the dead.
I killed him
. And with that declaration he would destroy the hopes that had taken seed in him. Shatter Skena’s tender belief that wishes could come true.

He would ruin all. In that same breath, she would lose everything as well.

Noel’s eyes shifted to Guillaume, exchanging a silent message as they waited for the woman to enter the solar. “Comyn went away too easily,” he complained.

“You sound disappointed. What did you expect? He had little reason to tarry. His only excuse for coming was to assure himself Skena was all right. She now has a valiant knight protector and is betrothed. His presence was made redundant, and he knew it.” Guillaume moved to the fire, warming himself.

“In truth, I had hoped to vent my frustration by rearranging his face.” With a predator’s focus, Noel watched Dorcas coming down the hallway. “I shall have to settle with confronting Skena’s half sister. Notice, she is not limping after her fall.”

Instead of being intimidated by a summons from the new lord, Dorcas entered with a languid gait meant to show off the sensual sway of her lush body. That alone set Noel against the woman, even if there were not already a list of reasons to dislike her. Skena had gone without a normal ration of food for sennights, judging by her body’s thinness. He saw no such self-deprivation on Dorcas’s frame. The haughtiness in the way she carried herself lent credence to Skena’s assertion that Dorcas fancied herself above others.

“You wanted me, my lord?” she asked, coming into the large room and stopping only a few feet away. The tone of her words carried an implied sexual meaning. Her hazel eyes flicked to Guillaume, hardened with calculation, and then finally she nodded to him in deference.

“I wanted to speak about your claims to Skena.” Noel spoke softly, but only a fool would not hear the steel to his words. He pondered just how much an idiot this woman was. Well, he was about to find out.

She stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “Claims, my lord? I am unsure of what you speak.”

“Skena spoke that you claim Angus Fadden is alive,” he said flatly.

“Alive? I have heard no such tides.” She tried to sound shocked, but failed. And once again, she failed to blink. “I have no idea why Skena would say such lies.”

“Lady Skena,” Noel quietly corrected.

Finally, she batted her eyelids in surprise. “Beg pardon, my lord?”

“I said call her
Lady
Skena—”

She fleered. “But Skena is my—”

“I am aware of who you are and what position you have filled at Craigendan. Do not hope to continue in that vein. You shall address her as Lady Skena. Am I understood?” The pitch of his voice made it clear he would brook no opposition in showing disrespect toward Skena.

Tension was reflected in the woman’s jaw, but she gave him a faint nod.

“Good. Now I would like to know why you think Fadden is alive,” Noel exhaled in impatience, ignoring her previous assertion.

Yet again, she offered him that wide-eyed expression that Skena had cautioned him to expect. “I cannot give the answer you seek. I have no notion why Skena would say Lord Fadden is alive. All ken he died in April. Duncan brought back the news in early May, mayhap a sennight after Beltane.”

Noel targeted the fact that she spoke of Comyn by his given name, but allowed it to pass. For now. He stepped toward her, using his height to intimidate her. “Skena said you told her Fadden was alive.”

“Mayhap losing her beloved lord husband has caused her mind to turn inward.” One shoulder gave a small shrug. “Skena was never very strong, my lord.”

“Lady Skena,” he snapped.

“Beg pardon, my lord. ’Tis hard to change the patterns of a lifetime.” Her attempt to sound humble failed.

Noel gave a bored wave of the hand. “You are dismissed.”

“If there is aught else I can do for you, my lord—” she started almost to purr in sensuality.

“I said dismissed. Do not make me repeat my orders,” Noel cut her off. He was rarely brusque with servants, but he wanted Dorcas to understand her place. Crossing his arms, he watched her walking away, something niggling at the back of his mind. “She little resembles Skena, nor Muriel, for that matter. Odd.”

“They are only half sisters. Skena favors the Ogilvie line, so mayhap the woman gets her looks through the father.” Guillaume pointed out, “Did you catch her slip about Duncan’s telling her Angus was dead? How she also called him by the familiar?”

Noel frowned. “Skena has this ability to pinpoint when people are lying. Told me both Comyn brothers lied, but Phelan would stare you in the eye, whilst Duncan always looked away, guising the action. She warned me Dorcas gives you the wide-eyed innocent look when she speaks untruths. And that is what she did when she mentioned Duncan’s telling her about Angus’s death. She lied. Again, she uttered falsehoods when she said she never told Skena he was alive.”

“So she is involved. We assumed this already after last night. She also is comfortable enough with Comyn to use his Christian name. What shall you do?” Guillaume asked.

“What can we do? Watch the postern gate well. Put one of your men to following Dorcas. Warn him to keep his arse in his braes and three arms distance from her, or I shall skin him alive with a whip.”

Guillaume laughed. “Methinks that will convince him to resist her charms.”

“It damn well better. She lied. Had last night’s mummery of falling not convinced me of her involvement, her lies removed any question in my mind. Comyn is away from Craigendan. He will have to come back if he hopes to keep up his games.”

Guillaume tossed the dregs of his ale into the fireplace. “Mayhap, he will give up the plan, after coming face-to-face with you, with the Challon might at your back. His branch of the clan already has one black mark against their name for Phelan’s stupidity. He might not want to incur Edward’s wrath.”

“A possibility. We shall see.” Noel’s gut told him not to count on that.

Noel watched Skena pull the kirtle over her head and then wrap the
plaide
diagonally about her. She had been fidgety during supper, her eyes often straying to the children; it was clear she worried about them. She was also a bit irritated with him for not accepting that she had seen Angus.

Sitting on the bench, he pulled off his shirt and unlaced his boots, tasks done absentmindedly. He hated that the foul truth stood between them. Aye, Angus Fadden’s ghost loomed near, but not in the fashion Skena believed. Someday what happened would come out. Just not now, not until he bound her to his heart and soul, until she could not breathe without him.

“Has Craigendan been searched?” she asked, pacing to the fire.

He nodded. “Thrice. But now Comyn is gone—”

She tossed up her hands in exasperation. “’Tis Angus I say. He means to kill me…. Last night, I felt it with the kenning…. I feared he would toss me over the bastion wall. I know it was him in the cleansing room.”

He fought clenching his jaw. “Angus is dead, Skena. Accept that. Even if he were alive, how would he benefit from your death? I would still be baron here, by Edward’s decree.”

“If you were still alive. If. If. If. Do you not see, if you were dead along with me, he could return and claim Craigendan?” she pressed her argument.

He shook his head. “No one is deviling me. Why would Fadden wish you dead?”

She shrugged sadly. “Before, you said there was no end to what men would do to possess a thing, that madness, obsession can grow? Same can be said of some women. Dorcas. With me dead, she believes she could wed Angus and finally become the lady of Craigendan.”

Noel shook his head. “She is a mere serving wench—”

“But my half sister. We had the same father.”

Noel leaned forward to toss another peat to the fire. “I thought Craigendan came through your Ogilvie blood—your mother’s blood, in your Pictish ways.”

She hugged herself against the chill. “I am not an Ogilvie heiress like Tamlyn or my cousin Aithinne. You must not recall my telling you on the first night you came that I took my father’s name to inherit this land. King Alexander gave me and Craigendan to Angus. If something happens to me, and Angus is alive, Dorcas might figure he could take her to wife, since she is of Diarmad MacIain’s blood. She has always believed she has as much right to this land as I do.”