Amanda Scott (36 page)

“You’re safe now,” he said, “but it just goes to show that even you know you need me to protect you.” When she stiffened in his arms again, he waited.

She glared at him. “How dare you, Duncan Campbell! If you think for—”

He laughed. “That’s better. Sit up, lassie. I’m going to get you a wet towel to mop your face. Then I’ll straighten this bed and get into it properly.”

“Duncan, I—” She broke off, and he sensed that she was reluctant to go on.

“We’ll sleep, lass, just sleep. We’ve waited this long for the rest. We can wait a bit longer. I don’t take advantage of exhausted or unwilling women.”

When she did not reply, he knew he had guessed her feelings correctly. Resigned but feeling rather noble, he went to put more wood on the fire and then to dampen a towel at the washstand. When he returned, she had straightened the bedclothes and was lying propped against the pillows, waiting for him.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the towel and holding it to her face.

He got quickly out of his clothes and, leaving the bed curtains open, climbed into bed, putting an arm around her to draw her close. She smelled good, and he wished she hadn’t worn her night shift. At least, he thought, she had not worn one of her foolish caps. If her hair was tangled, he did not care a snap.

It felt good to hold her. Unfortunately, a certain portion of his body clearly agreed, for he felt it stir hopefully. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it stiffened, stirring the covers as it made its desires known.

She moved slightly, no doubt simply shifting to make herself comfortable, but her movement made matters worse. He stifled a groan, commanding himself to control his urges, to have just a little resolution.

Her fingers began tracing idle patterns on his chest. She probably was not aware of the movement and would not understand if he asked her to stop. Moreover, he did not want her to stop. He wanted her to do much more, but after her nightmare and her heart-rending distress, only a villain would demand such things of her.

Her hand slid lower, toward his stomach, making him instantly aware that he had erred badly in not wearing a nightshirt. Since he rarely did, it had not occurred to him. It ought to have occurred to him, though, he told himself savagely. He was a fool, an idiot. When her hand slipped lower, he caught it with his, drawing in a deep breath, trying to steady raw, agitated nerves.

Mary snuggled against him, giving the hand that held hers a friendly squeeze. Her warm cheek lay against his chest, her parted lips mere inches from a nipple. He could feel her breath on it—soft, warm breaths, one after another, after another.

Staring at the tester overhead, he tried to concentrate on the shadowy dark patterns etched in its underside. He could not really see them, but he had stared at them many times over the years. He knew them by heart. Concentrate …

“Duncan?”

“Aye.” The single word rasped, as if his voice refused to work properly.

“There is something I haven’t told you. Something you should know.”

“What’s that?” His body stirred at the sound of her voice, at each warm little breath against his chest, making it hard to pay heed to what she was saying.

“It’s about Ewan, about why he wants me.”

She had his attention now. “Why?”

“He’s searching for the MacCrichton treasure. He and his father and brother hid it before they went out in the Forty-five, so the Campbells would not find it.”

“But if they hid it themselves—”

“His brother notched the tree where they hid it, he said, then marked hundreds of other trees near it, as well. His father and brother died, of course, and now, he cannot find it. He thought I would be able to, on account of the Sight.”

“He’s a damned fool then. Ian explained to me once that you can see only death, and not even that beforehand, only when and as it happens.”

“Aye, that’s true. I sometimes have odd feelings about things, though, and folks believe I have healing in my hands. Many attribute those things to being a seventh daughter, but I’ve never tried to locate something, or had a vision that told me where to look. Ewan believes I can, nonetheless. That is why he wants me.

He was silent, thinking. Her words explained many things.

She shifted her position slightly, looking up at him. “I should have told you.”

“Aye, you should. Why did you not?”

She was silent.

“Trusting goes both ways, lass. I’ll try to remember you’ve got a brain in your head if you will try to remember that I am no villain.”

“That is why I knew I had to tell you now,” she said.

“When you told me that Ewan admitting knowing we had married, you knew that would not deter his resolve to recapture you, didn’t you?”

“It would stop his trying to marry me, though, don’t you think? He said he wanted marriage because otherwise a question might arise over ownership of any treasure I found.”

“You did not answer my question, Mary.”

“Please don’t be vexed,” she murmured. “I want you to kiss me again.”

“I dare not,” he said, trying to ignore the instant fire in his loins. “If I kiss you, sweetheart, I won’t want to stop. It will lead to other things.”

Quietly, she said, “I don’t mind, Duncan. I want you to make me your wife.”

He required no further urging. Though he had been ready to explain firmly that she had been wrong to distrust him, the point was irrelevant now. Without a word, he helped her take off her shift. Then he kissed her, savoring her soft lips, pressing his tongue against them until they parted, then plunging it into her mouth.

When she moaned, he caressed her with his hands, squeezing her soft flesh lightly, then harder, teasing her nipples and kissing them, tracing his kisses farther down her body, then using his fingers to open her, holding her when she squirmed. He kissed her everywhere, exploring every curve and soft mound of her body with his fingers, lips, and tongue, encouraging her to stroke him, to touch and kiss him, and to hold him. When he thought she was ready, he entered her carefully, stroking slowly at first, until her body adjusted to his.

She cried out only once, but he had been expecting it, and he kissed her softly, saying, “The ache will pass, sweetheart. After this there is only pleasure.”

He finished quickly after that, then lay back, holding her tenderly.

“Is that all there is to it?” she asked a moment later.

Detecting a note of frustration in her voice, he smiled. “Not quite, lassie. Give me a minute to catch my breath, and I’ll show you more.”

It took longer than a minute, but when he began again, she left him in no doubt that his efforts gave her pleasure. After that, he helped her clean herself and they slept soundly until morning; however, since he had forgotten to set the clever little lock, Hardwick wakened them both when he came in as usual to light the fire and open the curtains.

W
HEN MARY AWOKE FOR
the second time, to find herself enclosed in darkness, she experienced a flash of panic before she remembered that she was alone in Duncan’s bed with the bed curtains drawn again to keep out the morning light.

Reaching out, she touched soft velvet, then paused to listen, wondering if anyone else was in the room. Sitting up, she realized she was still naked, and since she did not know where her night shift was, she hoped she was alone. The memory of waking to find Hardwick there stirred her embarrassment to life again. Opening the curtains enough to peep out, she saw an empty bedchamber, and barely glowing embers in the fireplace indicated that no one had been in for some time.

Memories of the previous night washed over her, and she decided she was glad that Duncan had risen and gone. Warmth flooded her cheeks again at the memory that when their exertions had caused her to bleed, he had dampened the towel again and gently helped her clean herself, as casual about that as he had been earlier when he had fetched her the same towel to mop her face.

Putting the disconcerting thought aside to open the curtains more, she saw her night shift folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and her wrapper draped over the dressing stool. Snatching up the former, she put it on; and, feeling much less vulnerable, she got out of bed to get her wrapper.

A note lay on the dressing table from Duncan, telling her briefly that he had not wakened her because he knew she would want to sleep, and that when she pulled the bell, Ailis would come to her. Profoundly relieved that she would not have to make her way back to her bedchamber, she pulled it at once.

The maid brought clothing with her, and was reassuringly businesslike in her attentions. Mary wondered at the lack of question or comment until Ailis said matter-of-factly, “The young master said ye’ll be moving in here today, mistress, so in future ye’re tae give the bell two tugs when ye want me, and one for Hardwick.”

Tempted though she was to tell Ailis she would do no such thing, Mary held her tongue. He was doing it again, making decisions about her life without so much as a word to her, and she was not at all ready to live in his bedchamber.

“This room is rather small,” she said.

“Aye, but the adjoining one is tae be yer dressing room, he said. Hardwick slept there when Master Duncan was a lad, but we’re tae put your clothes in there, he said, and there’s still the wee bed there, too.” She chuckled. “He said he could use it on nights that ye were too wroth with him tae let him share your bed.”

Ailis clearly believed that no woman would dare deny Duncan his connubial rights, but the minute Ailis had gone, Mary examined the clever lock on the corridor door. Once she had ascertained its movements, she went to examine the second door Ailis had mentioned.

Just as the maid had said, the next room contained a narrow cot. A blue carpet covered the floor, a fireplace backed against the one in Duncan’s room, and the other furnishings included a large wardrobe, a plain table, a chair, and a stool. With satisfaction, Mary found that the door between the two rooms locked in exactly the same way that the corridor door did. She smiled at the discovery.

She was not eager to go downstairs, because images from the night before filled her mind again; and her body seemed to come alive with them, making her certain that someone would notice the difference in her. Another, more welcome thought followed, however, that Duncan might already have given her a child. Hugging that thought to herself, she decided she could face anyone.

Going down to the dining parlor, she found Serena reading a letter to Lady Balcardane, who looked vastly improved after a good night’s sleep. Speaking at once in a tangle of words, they told her the letter had come from Inver House.

“A messenger came this morning,” Serena said with a sigh. “Juliet was delivered of a son four days ago, and it finally occurred to my father to inform us that my brother has an heir at last.”

Lady Balcardane said happily, “Isn’t that delightful?”

“Oh, yes, how very pleased they all must be,” Mary said.

“Lud, there will be no bearing it,” Serena said. “I only wish I need never go home, for Juliet will be forever in alt now over her prodigious accomplishment.”

“But surely you are happy for her,” Mary said. When Serena looked at her blankly, she added with what she hoped was not too much unseemly enthusiasm, “Must you go home at once, then?”

“My papa writes that I have stayed away long enough,” Serena replied, pouting. “He says he misses me, but I daresay that is rubbish, since he also writes that Juliet cannot seem to decide whether to laugh all the time or cry all the time. Doubtless he simply wants me to look after her and keep her out of his way.”

“Being delivered of a child takes some women that way, I’m told,” Lady Balcardane said. “I would not know, for I am sure I was as pleased as anyone could be after each of my sons was born.” Her face clouded momentarily, but she cheered up at once, adding, “I quite look forward to seeing Juliet’s wee laddie.”

A sense of foreboding touched Mary. Wondering at it, she glanced from one woman to the other as she said, “Do you intend to see the baby soon, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!”

“My father writes that my brother wants to have wee Donald christened within the month,” Serena said. “He said there has been a furor because of certain unsuitable persons performing baptisms; so he wrote Balcardane, too, asking him to stand godfather to the bairn and to bring the Ballachulish parson to perform the ceremony. You are all invited to attend the christening party, of course.”

“Even Balcardane agrees that it is the most sensible thing to do,” Lady Balcardane said, “although, as you might expect, he has already begun complaining about the expense of taking a party to Inver House at this time of year.”

“He would complain about that at any time of year,” Duncan said with a chuckle from the threshold.

Mary jumped at the sound of his voice, and feeling instant heat in her cheeks, she could not wonder when Serena looked at her more intently than usual.

Duncan bent to kiss her cheek. “Good morning, sweetheart. I hoped you would sleep later than this.”

“Goodness, sir, I cannot think why,” she said, thinking she sounded like a goose. “I am always up before now.”

He looked about to say more, and she hoped he would not blurt out why he thought she would sleep late, but Lady Balcardane said in surprise, “Have you not had your breakfast, Duncan? I am quite sure that Jessie told me you ate hours ago.”

“I did, but I wanted to know how you are feeling, ma’am, and I found that I had grown hungry again.” He grinned at Mary, making her feel hotter than ever. Then he added, “I left my father in the stable, complaining at length about how poor he is and how he hoped Caddell does not expect him to bear the parson’s expenses. He don’t want to feed the poor man for the best part of two days and a night.”

“Perhaps my papa ought to have sent money with his letter,” Serena said, “but it would not have occurred to him to do so, you know.”

“Don’t fret about it,” Duncan recommended. “Even he knew he had gone too far when Chuff asked him if everyone in the castle will soon go hungry.”