The Enchantress (18 page)

She dangled the line out and then slammed the shutter closed as the dark form of a hawk shot by. She pulled open the shutter again and looked out, resting her head against the wood with a loud sigh.

William’s face darkened with a scowl as a pang of guilt struck him. Suddenly, his being so rude to her no longer made a great deal of sense. True, she was from the same privileged background as Mildred, but there the similarities ended.

An icy gust of wind swept past him from the corridor, and he saw her pull the tartan she had wrapped around her shoulders. He stepped into the room and closed the door, resting his back against his only means of escape.

“‘Twould hardly be right for a wee seven-year-old to arrive here and feel as if she were not even expected--never mind welcome.” She started tying another chunk with string. “I
have
to get his attention. But how?”

William glanced at the dying remains of the tiny fire in the huge fireplace. Quietly, he moved to the hearth and placed another block of peat on the embers. As smoke backed up into the room, a frown clouded his features.

“Perhaps if I stopped eating entirely and had you bring him news of my protest.”

Considering the quality of the food they’d been getting lately, he might consider doing that himself. Leaning into the fireplace, he peered up the chimney. Not even a hint of daylight up there, he thought, shaking his head.

“Nay! He might decide I’m making a commentary on the food, agree with me, and take the same course of action himself.”

He leaned back against the carved stone mantel above the hearth and smiled. She was wearing a thick and rather shapeless wool dress, but he had no difficulty recalling the beautiful body hidden beneath its heavy folds. He came slowly to his feet.

“I’ve been too predictable in my approach. Too...too sensible.”

He nodded in agreement, but suddenly a note of mischief crept into her voice. “If I were to act...absurd. Totally different from who I really am.” She prepared to dangle the bait out the window again but stopped, looking down at the men in the training yard. “Perhaps if I were to shed all my clothes and throw them, one piece at a time, out this window into the yard. Perhaps then he’d--”

“That would certainly get my attention, though you’d surely freeze up here in no time, I should think.”

She whirled in shock and gaped at him, her violet eyes two round gems in an ivory face. William saw a shadow of a hawk pass by the open window behind her. He strode across the chamber to where she stood.

Laura quickly recovered from her surprise, holding her ground. Her shoulders straightened, and her chin lifted high in challenge, but her eyes told him that his presence was not unwelcome.

“You might have told me, m’lord, that ‘twas you and not--”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “M’lord?”

As he came before her, he saw the deep blush rise beneath the skin of her neck, into her cheeks. Letting his eyes travel down her body, he noted the little tremor in her hands. Damn, she was beautiful. As near as this, there was no way to stop the tightening of his loins, the pulsing of his blood, the overwhelming desire to touch her.

He reached out with both hands and took her by the shoulders. Ignoring her shocked gasp, he moved her a bit roughly to the side, away from the window.

He closed and latched the shutter and turned to her. “Very well. Be quick about it. You have my attention.”

He saw her swallow and fixed his gaze on her parted lips. They were so full, so tender. He remembered with the clarity of a dream just how tender. Before he even knew he intended to do it, he wrapped a hand around her waist, and she came willingly into his arm.

The joining of their mouths might have set the entire castle ablaze. Like a starved man he kissed her, devoured her, and she was as zealous in her response.

He dug his fingers into her hair, holding her tightly as his mouth tried to get the taste of her. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her body arching, pressing tighter against him, pushing him to a level of sheer madness.

Damn, this woman was so sweet. Her flesh scorched him where he touched her. And her skin, so incredibly soft. His lips moved from her mouth and traveled across her cheek, to her ear, down her neck, while she moved restlessly, giving him better access to the tantalizing flesh. His hands were everywhere, roaming her back, feeling the curve of her bottom--pulling her hard against his manhood.

He found her mouth again and swallowed her gasp of surprise as his one hand cupped her breast. She leaned into his touch, and he heard himself groan with need.

He had to have her. And he knew he could. When he pulled back a little, she followed--seeking, teasing, drawing his probing tongue back into her soft mouth.

By Duthac’s Shirt, he wanted her, right here, in this room, on this poor excuse for a bed. But that nagging, vengeful, pain in the arse voice in his head kept pulling at him, telling him it would be wrong. Laura wasn’t some wench in the Three Cups Tavern. She wasn’t even some worldly and spoiled court chit. She was an enchantress, but she had no idea of all the things he lusted to do to her.

He cupped her face with two large hands and, holding her in place, gently pulled back. Looking into her face--the parted lips, the flushed cheeks, the eyes that were closed only to slowly open again in all their violet splendor--he knew he was a man bewitched.

He took a deep breath and then smiled down at her. “Well, lass, you certainly have my attention now.”

She suddenly appeared flustered. She tried to step back. He held her in place.

“What happened a moment ago was too long in coming.”

She nodded, gnawing and then delicately licking her full lower lip. He wondered if she knew how such a simple action could rouse in him such desire.

His voice was hoarse as he shook off those thoughts. “But we cannot let it happen again.”

Cheeks aflame, she nodded in agreement, but the look of hurt that he glimpsed in her eyes told him he was a filthy knave.

“Laura, you’re a very desirable woman, passionate and beautiful. And--and I am only a man.” He looked away, trying to push the anger out of his voice. Lamely, he made an attempt at sounding casual, off-hand. “I--I only look for a toss in the hay. Hell, you deserve more than that.”

Her gaze dropped to his chest, and he reluctantly released her hand. “We’ll stay away from each other for the rest of your stay here. We can both forget what happened.”

She nodded again and turned away from him. Moving across the chamber to the far side of the hearth, she stared at the small fire. He saw that her hands were trembling slightly as she tucked them into the folds of her dress.

“You’ll soon find a husband and have your own bairns--like your older sister. And you will be happy then that you never surrendered yourself to some Highland villain.”

It was vanity, William knew, but even so he hoped she would deny his words. She said nothing, though, and when she finally turned around to him, she seemed to have her passion under control.

“I thank you for coming up here. I know you are quite busy, m’lord.”

He watched her tightly clasped hands and wanted to feel them again touching him. All the words he’d spoken were a lie, he realized suddenly. Every one of them.

“I have made a list of requests that, if you’d be kind enough to hear them, would greatly ease my concerns about the arrival of your niece.”

“A list?” he repeated like a fool, watching her bend over the bed to pick up a piece of slate with some writing on it. By St. Andrew, he wanted her sprawled beneath him on that cot. He wanted to strip her out of that gray dress and feel her limbs naked and entwined with his own.

“Aye, a list.” She straightened, running a hand down the front of her dress.

William’s eyes followed the movement, lingering on her breasts--so aware of their fullness, the way they’d felt when he’d held them.

“First, since I will be acting as the child’s first tutor here, I was wondering if your niece could be placed in a bedchamber adjacent to mine. I know this wing is quite drafty, but I believe with a few minor alternations, the chambers just down this corridor might be warm enough. And--”

“Very well,” he said shortly, gazing at the serious set of her jaw. He knew exactly how to go about softening it. Softening her.

“Second, I was wondering--since there is still no steward--if I might oversee the hiring of a dependable cook for the kitchen.”

She was studying her list, her hand resting against her ribs just below her breast. He scowled, the torment growing within him.

“‘Tis essential that we improve the quality of the food before Miriam’s arrival. I myself have been regularly feeding the hawks with it, though I believe they enjoyed the mice I killed the first day here more than the food that is being cooked in Blackfearn’s kitchen.”

Killing mice? He hid his smile as she absently began to pace the room, listing all the reasons why he should let her take charge.

He took a deep breath as she passed near him. The sweet scent of her hung in the air like lavender on a summer’s eve. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders like a shining waterfall of silk. He wanted to bury his hand in it--run it over his face, his chest, his belly. He was losing his mind.

He realized he was nodding vaguely--but at what? She went back to her list, pacing and rubbing her neck lightly. The soft column of ivory skin--the pulse beating so seductively at the hollow of her throat. He’d tasted her there. And he wanted to do it again. In fact, he wanted to peel away that collar, that plaid scarf, that damn dress. He wanted to let his mouth taste every inch of her bare skin.

“Assuming that the efforts required...”

She continued to talk, but he seemed to have lost the ability to hear anything but snatches of what she was saying. With the pulsing roar that was beginning to build in his head, his ears appeared to be no longer functioning. His body, however...

William knew he had to get out of that chamber before his willpower crumbled and he did the unthinkable.

“Do as you will,” he snapped, turning abruptly.

“All of it?”

He yanked open the door and gave her a parting glance. Her eyes were round with surprise. Her beautiful mouth open. He would be a doomed man if he didn’t escape.

“Aye, of course all of it.”

*****

The Highland wind was bitterly cold, cutting through the travelers with the feel of an icy blade drawn across bone. They climbed another brae so steep and rugged that the packhorses were continually balking beneath their loads. But the young girl, sitting astride her sturdy little horse, was far too excited to pay any attention to the hostile surroundings. She urged her horse upward until she was riding alongside the group’s leader.

“Miriam, I asked you before to stay in the middle of the line.”

“Aye, that you did, Sir Wyntoun. And I will go back just as soon as you answer one more question.”

The man’s stern expression softened as he stared down at the young girl. “Aye, lassie. And what is it this time?”

“How many more days before we arrive?”

“Two, perhaps three, if the weather cooperates. But we’ve already talked about this today, I bel--”

“And how many camps will we be making before we see Blackfearn Castle?”

Wyntoun MacLean scowled to hide his smile, though he knew that the child saw right through him anyway. “That makes two questions, if I am not mistaken.”

The blue eyes turning upward in an attitude of pleading that had the Highlander shaking his head in defeat.

“Considering your first question is the same one you’ve been asking about a hundred times a day since we left Hoddom Castle, I suppose I should allow you this second one. Though, to be honest, lass, I do not see the diff--”

“How many camps, Sir Wyntoun?”

“By the d--” He checked himself. “Once again, child, weather permitting, as few as two. But it could be more.”

“Could we do without them and arrive there today?”

“Would you want to kill that wee darling you’re riding, Miriam? Nay! Besides, ‘tis far too treacherous a ride in the dark.” He shook his head and looked at her closely. “Are you cold, lassie?”

Miriam’s impish face shook from side to side. “‘Tis not cold, at all.”

The blue tinge in her lips contradicted her words, though. She was a wee, stubborn elf, to be sure, he thought.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Sir Wyntoun.”

He nodded his head and, reaching into the leather bag tied to his saddle, pulled out another blanket. “Aye, I know that. But your horse looks a wee bit cold, so put this over your lap for me.”

“Very well, though she doesn’t look cold to me.” With a look of a person humoring another, however, she took it and carefully tucked it around her legs.

“That should keep her warm, lass. Now, why not wait right here and get into your place in line?”

“Before I go, Sir Wyntoun,” she blurted out, “what do you think I should call my uncle?”

“He is your uncle. Just call him that.”

She shook her head. “That was before. Now he is my guardian. Nanna Jean said before we left, that means he will now be like my father. But I cannot call him ‘guardian,’ can I?” She twisted her face into a frown and gazed up into the Highlander’s face. “Perhaps I should call him ‘Sir William.’ Nay, that won’t do. Perhaps ‘laird’?”

Wyntoun MacLean shook his head. “Well, lass, I--”

“‘Father’? Do you think he would like me to call him ‘father’?”

The Highlander watched silently as a look of uncertainty clouded the young girl’s face.

“What if he hates me?”

“I know your uncle, Miriam. He won’t hate you.”

“But what if he doesn’t want me? The way--the way Grandsire didn’t.”

“Lord Herries is an old man.” Wyntoun stopped, realizing there was no point in defending the bloodless old bastard. She had seen it herself.

“Will he want me?”

The knight gave her a reassuring nod. “You’ll do very well, Miriam. I know William Ross. The man will treasure you, lass.”

The arguing was loud and incessant, and angry voices drifted up the steps with the familiar smell of burnt food. Laura tucked her skirts around her legs and listened from her place in the darkness of the stairway leading up from the kitchens.