And there could be no doubt . . . she
was strong.
Resilient.
Some had even called her the most indomitable lass in all Glenelg.
Her mettle was legion.
Even if her considerable daring chose this ill-fated night to abandon her.
She shifted on the bench, smoothed the folds of her bed-robe. Flown mettle or no, she would
not
look at the freshly made bed, its linens pristine and snowy white.
Nor would she glance at the untouched mound of cushions shed piled before the hearth in such a flurry of passion . . . a hastily tossed-together collection of wantonness shed arranged within the fires circle of warmth, an indulgence shed allowed herself in a moment of tingling madness and yearnings.
Yearnings.
Her heart split wide on the word.
Sitting up straighter, she swiped a hand across her cheek, refusing to let the scalding heat pricking the backs of her eyes well into tears.
Willing the sensation to recede, she pulled in yet another great, lung-filling breath and immediately wished she hadnt for, this time, along with the chill, peat-laced air, came still more reminders of her folly . . . the lingering scent of lavender.
Saints preserve her, even the decidedly pleasing scent of her own freshly bathed and oiled skin shot ribbons of heat streaking all through her. Just thinking about her painstaking ablutions intensified the blaze of her already-flushing cheeks and tightened the viselike clamp of disquiet crushing her ribs and squeezing her heart.
A laming disquiet not borne of shame for finally succumbing to the wondering awe that had been simmering so hotly and that shed hoped would unfold in all its sweet beauty this een, but an ill ease brewing up from certain fragments of memory.
Quickening threads of persistence, stirring inside her and unwinding the past. Each one etching her night not with answers but questions that stared at her from the shadows, expressionless and intense.
Bits and pieces of all her yesterdays . . . unpleasant and puzzling truths sluicing iciest water over the dearest of her hopes and dreams.
Troublesome tidings shed have to share with her knight at once . . . if even he yet appeared, at this late hour.
She hugged Mungo closer, rubbed absently at the back of his small neck, and took solace in his plump, warm weight in her lap. Closing her eyes, she tried to hear only the wind at the shutters and the splatter of rain on the window ledge.
Above all, she struggled to stop straining her ears for the sound of a mans eager footsteps on stone. Or the welcome creak of the heavy oaken door swinging wide, the telltale scrape of wood moving over the floor rushes to herald his return.
But no such sounds came.
Only the hollow whistling of the wind over the loch and the wet, restless breathing of the night curling ever so close around the tower walls.
Nothing else broke through her whirring confusion. The half-dreamed, half-remembered imaginings swirling through her like water tumbling over rapids.
Just little Mungos stirrings as he squirmed on her lap, growing restless until she lifted him for a quick kiss between his ears, then set him on the rushes . . . there, just at the base of the window embrasures opposite-facing stone bench.
Right where shed also placed Devorgillas healing cream.
Not surprisingly, the little jar seemed to wink up at her, all innocence and challenge, its fat-sided roundness daring her to retrieve it and smooth its creamy contents across her brow yet again.
Truth be told, she was certain that doing so would set the images to life again, each application of the ointment nudging another memory out of her.
Mayhap next time the one she most dreaded.
The one she did not want to know.
Her brow knitting, she pushed at the jar with her foot, using her toe to bury it beneath the rushes. And as quickly as she could for with just that simple contact, another disturbing round of memories came flooding back to assault her.
Her full name . . . Juliana Mackay.
Her late mothers name . . . Marjory Mackay.
And the name of the man whose lifelong largesse her mother had so desperately wished to repay.
Lass?
Julianas heart stopped.
He
stood leaning against the edge of the window embrasure, arms folded as he watched her, his most disarming smile soundly in place . . . and melting her.
She blinked, her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue too thick for words.
He looked wholly at ease, even amused, his gaze going unerringly to her outstretched leg, now frozen in place, her naked foot buried deep beneath the thick layer of rushes.
If your feet are cold, sweetness, there are other ways to warm them, he said, dropping to one knee before her, his boyishly-dimpled smile turning deliciously lazy.
Dangerous.
Shall I show you, Juliana? He looked at her so deeply she feared he could see clear through to her soul . . . mayhap even to the dark and alarming things she now remembered.
Dread things she wished had neer come back to her.
Hmmm, lass? He lifted a brow, his hand already hovering over her naked calf. Shall I . . .warm you?
Juliana stared at him, so caught by the want and need beginning to spiral inside her that she could not move. Not even when the edge of her bed-robe slid away to reveal a goodly expanse of her bare thigh to go along with the already exposed nakedness of her calf and half-buried foot.
More alarming still, the cailleachs little pot of healing ointment had gone hot as fire and, she would swear, vibrated crazily against her toes.
Indeed, the wee round pot of fired clay sent streaks of prickling, white-hot flames shooting up her leg to burst onto her cheeks. A wave of molten delight to spill through her entire body and ignite a firestorm of heated tingles in certain unmentionable places.
A saturating,
dampening
intimacy Juliana recognized for what it was, and the shock of her arousal nigh undid her.
She cleared her throat, moistened her lips. II . . . did not hear you enter, she got out, conquering her tongue at last. I no longer expected you to come.
Ahhh, but you did earlier, did you not, my beauty? His gaze flickered to the pile of pillows before the hearth fire, the softly burning candles, the pristine expanse of the carefully turned down bed. You even unbound your hair.
He touched the bright-gleaming strands, lifted a handful to his lips. Aye, you prepared for me, Juliana, that I can see, and . . . you grew cold in the waiting. For that I am sorry, my heart. He looked at her, such an expression of mutual knowing in his eyes, she could scarce draw breath. Never fear, sweetness, together we shall banish the chill.
I am not cold, she spoke true, for she burned with the fiercest of blazes.
His heated gaze and the sensual promise behind his words set her to trembling, sent a rage of all-consuming fire sweeping through her, and made her heart beat wildly.
A small sound escaped her. She looked at him in the dimness of the window embrasure. I am. . . .
Burning.
I am aflame,
shed almost cried, only to have the admission lodge in her throat, held there by the same worries and cares that almost flooded her eyes with bittersweet tears again.
The unmentionable, unanswered concern still digging into her sides like greedy, hot-ripping talons.
No matter how much her knights hot glances and sweet words might rouse her flesh. Or how fiercely brilliant need spurred her passion, making her ache to touch and taste him.
But even if her heart was already given, her mind cringed from what might be an even greater sin than desiring and lying with another womans betrothed.
He leaned forward then, slipping his hand around her neck to cradle her head. He stretched his fingers into her hair, and his gentling caresses proved an almost unbearable sweetness.
You are troubled, lass, and you neednt beall will be well, I promise you, he told her, resting his cheek against her hair.
She swallowed a sigh, wanting to believe him.
Needing
to trust him. Faith, just the underlying longing in his voice melted her, softening her like wax beneath a flame.
Still, his assurances let a surge of hope rise in her heart . . . but her confidence spiraled away again almost at once, its fragileness submerged by the uneasiness still beating inside her.
See you, I have spoken with the lady Euphemia, he said, stroking his fingers through her hair, kindling the heat building inside her. I am certain an amenable resolution can be foundand soon.
He lifted a section of her hair, let the strands spill through his fingers as he looked at her, studying her face. Possibly sensing the degree of her distress, he released her hair and framed her face with his hands, leaned forward to kiss her brow.
Aye, to be sure, he promised, his expression one of absolute certainty. You have no cause to be burdened, my sweet. I have given her a sennightand two wise and good choices, the neither of which will bring her shame.
And sorrow, my lord?
She had to ask, and immediately knew a pang because shed posed the question more for her own hearts peace than out of concern for the other woman.
Shivering anew, but with the nights true cold this time, Juliana drew her furred bed-robe closer around her. What will you do if she accepts neither of the suggestions youve pressed on her?
Ach, she will want the one or the other, I grant you, he supplied, sounding most certain. Still holding her face, he stroked her cheeks, traced the curve of her lips. You must trust me, he added, his hand curling round her nape again, his fingers tangling in the heavy silk of her hair. I say you, she has sharp wits, the lass does. She will see the sense in . . . acquiescing.
Juliana glanced aside, not sure of that at allnor of how her knight might react to her own tidings, the question she must pose him.
And what
her
reaction would be to the wrong answer.
For a moment his fingers tensed against the back of her neck and his eyes darkened, his expression growing earnest. That one will not be appearing on the threshold, never you worry, he said with a nod toward the door.
The closed and
barred
door, she noted, for hed slid the drawbar soundly in place.
You neednt keep casting glances that way, he added, clearly mistaking why shed looked away.
I was looking for Mungo, she improvised, blurting the first thing that came to her mind.
Mungo?
Aye . . . he was just here, she said, looking round for him.
Not quite a ploy, but neither a full untruth, for she did wish to know where the puppy had gone since hed already once sniffed a wee bit too close to the peat fire, his curiosity earning him burned paws and a bit of a singed nose.
Have I seen your wee protector? Her knight took the bait and cocked a jaunty brow at her. Och, to be sure and the mite dashed over to greet me when I came in, he said, leaning forward to kiss her again, this time on the tip of her nose. But just now, the wee beastie sleeps, curled in the warmth of the brazier near your bed.
Juliana nodded, and squelched the rising urge to follow the puppys lead and flit across the room to her own great four-poster, dive in and yank shut the bed curtains, burrow beneath the coverings, and neer come out again.
Mayhap not even for airuntil all her problems were resolved.
But she dismissed the notion at once.
Shed neer been one to run from difficulties.
In especial, not a strapping, dark-haired difficulty still whiling on bended knee before her, his sunniest smile beaming its dimpled way straight into her heart.
And lighting the dearest kisses on her face!
Wee Mungo fares well enough, minx, he was saying, his gaze moving over her as he spoke, the slow deliberation of his perusal, and the softness of his kisses making her . . . needy.
You
will soon burn with a heat much finer than the warmth of a brazier.
Juliana swallowed, shifted on the cushions of the stone bench, quite certain her heart would stop beating any moment. Mayhap even on her very next exhale.
He still held his hand poised over her bared calf. As if sensing how close she was to losing herself, he let his fingers hover but a scant hairbreadth above her skin.
So close she could feel the heat streaming out of him, feel its drenching possession flowing over her, pouring into her, and making her throb and ache . . . everywhere.
I am going to warm you now, Juliana, he said, the smooth richness of his deep voice sending waves of dizzying heat whirling through her. But only if you desire my touch. You must tell me the words.
He looked at her, the thrumming sensuality rolling off him thickening the air. So tell me, Juliana . . . would you like me to touch you?
She could only nod, every inch of her, inside and out, prickling with need. The hot pulsing building in the secret place between her legs made
that part of her
contract and tingle even as she ran hot with dampening liquid fire.
She opened her mouth to say somethinganythingbut the whirling sensations seemed to have tied her tongue in knots.
And he hadnt even placed a finger on her leg yet!
He was merely watching her.
But the heat in his gaze ignited a hunger within her such as shed never known and its potency made her smolder and burn so deliciously she could scarce bear the anticipation welling inside her.
