A Laird for Christmas (18 page)

He pinned her to the pillar. His chest pressed against hers, making her even more aware of his lean, hard muscles. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as her head swam. Her knees weakened and she sank deeper into him.

“By the heavens,” he breathed, his voice a caress.

The music ended. Jane pulled back, suddenly aware of her surroundings.

“Not yet,” he growled, holding her close.

A minute ticked by. She dropped her hands from his neck and took a step sideways. Her cheeks burned. What had she done? One look from him and she became everything his rumors had claimed her to be—
a passionate seductress
.

“Jane, do not retreat from me. Not again.”

She took another step away from him, bringing her fingers to her still-throbbing lips. She gave him a wistful look. “I should never have allowed that to happen.”

“Do not fight what is between us.”

She tensed, fighting the warmth that flared at his words. “There can be nothing between us, Nicholas, but this competition. A competition between you and five other men.”

“There does not have to be.” He took a step toward her.

“Nicholas, please?” She held up her hand, praying he would stop. If he touched her again she would shatter. The pain of longing mixed with the reality of the past. “I have forgiven you, but the wounds are still too raw.”

Nicholas dragged in a breath. He ran his hands through his hair. His chest tightened as he looked into her face and saw the truth of her words, all those she held back, and those she had held in for so long. He saw for the first time what he had sensed since his return to her life. She had built a wall between them.

He did not know how to breech it.

He only knew he had to.

She lowered her gaze and drew in a breath. She took another step back, drawing away literally and emotionally, reinforcing that wall. “Please let me go.”

He held her gaze, forced himself to. “I understand your fear.”

“How could you when I do not even understand it myself?” Her face paled. “With you I am in danger.” She shivered. “A danger I do not even understand.”

But he did understand. She was afraid to go back there with him again, back to the void where only sensation and passion existed, where they both lost themselves in an attempt to be whole. “I can say a million times that I will never leave you, or do anything to harm you, but my actions will eventually speak louder than words.”

She drew a careful breath, turned away, but did not leave.

He took the few steps that separated them, halted behind her.

She said nothing, but also did not move away.

Gently, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. He pressed his head against her hair and waited until she relaxed. “I am here when you are ready.”

She leaned back against him. He tightened his hold and swore on his heart that never again would he let her go, no matter what stood in their way. He pressed a kiss to her head. He knew enough about her not to coax her into more. She had to come back to him willingly and in her own time.

He could wait, at least until Christmas Eve. He had to make her remember all they had shared. He had until Christmas Eve to make things right, to give her some reason to believe in him again.

T
he next morning Jane rose early, before the first light of dawn appeared. She had not slept well, and her mind was even more restless than her body, still filled with foreboding about the competition today. Nicholas’s kisses still lingered on her lips.

She found herself pacing her chamber, trying to remember all the reasons she should never allow herself to fall for the charming laird again. When she was with him, it was as if those years did not matter. Every moment and every touch took them back to the place they had been before. No, that was not true—their encounters were even more intense than they had been before.

Too restless to stay in her chamber, Jane grabbed a cloak and headed down the long hall toward the stair that led to the wall walk. Outside, fingers of pink-orange light forced back the night. Dawn would soon be upon them.

Jane drew a deep breath of the chill morning air as she strolled the long walkway, heading toward her favorite spot near the field where the men practiced. By the time she reached her usual nook in the crenellated stone, she realized two things.

Nicholas could take her back to the moment before he had left if she would only let him. But did she want him to?

Secondly, she was not the only one up at this hour. Peering over the edge of the castle wall, she studied the dark figure alone in the lists. The glow of a torch illuminated a small area where the man stood as still as a statue. His head was bowed, but she knew without seeing his face that it was Jules. He held a sword in his right hand.

He was dressed only in a lightweight shirt, breeches, and boots despite the chill of the morning air. The warmth of his breath coiled with the silence of the morn. Slowly he straightened, then bowed as though to an imaginary adversary. His movements were slow and methodical at first. He kept his body loose, relaxed. His stance was balanced, his back straight, his chest and torso forward. He slid his feet across the ground, reducing the chance of losing his balance. To win a fight meant staying in control. And it looked as if Jules was in control of both his mind and body this morning.

Jules maintained his weapon from the middle of his body to the top of his head as he met and blocked blows from his imaginary opponent, before proceeding with several strikes of his own. With his elbows bent and his sword close to his body he moved up and down the open space. His agile body was poised and confident as he flowed through the steps of the battle again and again until sweat soaked his linen shirt and curled the ends of his blond hair. His steps were light, his stroke sure, honing muscle he had lost during his incarceration. Only a slight hitch in his step gave away the fact that he was still recovering from his wound.

Jane watched in fascinated wonder as Jules’s steps grew stronger, more certain. She knew without a doubt, it was Bryce’s abuse that had prompted this early-morning practice. Jules would never show his physical weakness again.

She watched him in silence until dawn gave way to early morning. When he had finally tortured himself enough, he headed inside, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She leaned her head against the cold stone of Bellhaven and closed her eyes.

Jules deserved a chance to win a better life for himself than the one he had been given. Was that life with her or someone else? Around Jules she did not feel her body raging with fever or her mind swirling with dizziness as she did when Nicholas drew near. But perhaps that was better. Remaining in control of herself and her thoughts might be exactly what she needed in a husband, not the fiery longing Nicholas unleashed.

Jane drew a slow shaky breath. A quiet moment ticked past. Trusting Nicholas with her heart could be self-destructive, hurtful, even devastating. He had not loved her, not in the way she had loved him. It would be foolish beyond measure to walk that path again, would it not?

She opened her eyes and stared out across the bailey just now coming to life as servants began their daily routine. Could she deny the passion she and Nicholas shared and instead take up with someone and something else far more bland but safe? No closer to an answer, Jane turned around just as the door to the keep opened.

“There you are, dearest,” Aunt Margaret said. “When I could not find you in your room, I suspected I would find you here.” She took Jane’s cool hands in her own. “How long have you been out here?”

Jane shrugged. It seemed only minutes had passed, but it was probably much longer than that.

“What is troubling you?” Margaret asked with a frown.

“Why do you ask that?”

Margaret gave her a level look. “You always come up here when something is wrong.”

Jane smiled. Her aunt knew her well. “I could not sleep.”

“Too excited about the next competition?” Margaret asked with a twinkle in her eyes. “And which of those gorgeous men you will spend time alone with next?”

“Not exactly,” Jane replied hesitantly.

Margaret’s smile faltered. “Jane, you are thinking about this far too much. You are supposed to let whatever happens happen.”

“I tried being more whimsical about it all, truly, but that is not who I am.”

“I realize that, dearest.” Margaret released Jane’s hands and her smile returned. “You must be yourself, just as your suitors must show their true colors as well. That is what your time alone is supposed to provide—insight into their hearts.”

Jane sighed. “It is far more complicated than you make it sound.”

“Matters of the heart have been complicated since Adam first met Eve in the Garden of Eden.” Margaret reached up and cupped Jane’s cheek. “Your heart is no exception. Steel is forged with fire. Jewels are created under pressure. And love only comes to those who risk it all.”

“Love batters you and rakes you raw.”

Margaret’s lips quirked at the next competition the men were to face. “Something other than your suitors’ hearts will be raw after the next competition. I am glad you liked my idea of having them sew for you. It is this sort of challenge that will lay them bare to you. Just wait. You will see.”

Jane’s lips pulled up at the corners despite her attempt to remain serious. “Their bloody fingers?”

That infuriating twinkle was back in Margaret’s eyes. “Oh, there will be blood, and a whole lot more. Come.” She reached for Jane’s hand. “We do not want to miss a moment of this.”

Lady Margaret was right. Later that morning, Jane had never seen David, or Nicholas, or even Jules look so out of place in a solar. Colin and Lord Galloway and Bryce all wore frowns upon their faces. None of them were happy to be here. The thought made Jane smile.

Each man folded his big body into one of the chairs set in a semicircle around the chamber. The announcement that they were to have a sewing competition was met with a mixture of trepidation and horror. Bryce growled an obscenity. Jules’s brow furrowed. Colin simply stared at her, his shock obvious. David’s expression darkened. Nicholas released a heavy sigh. Lord Galloway smiled.

Angus and Ollie set two baskets in the middle of the men. One basket was filled with cloth, shears, and needles, the other with a multitude of colored spindles of thread.

“This competition is a test of your skills in a more intimate way,” Lady Margaret announced.

“I would rather we had a sword fight,” Colin groaned as he picked up a needle and tested the point against his thumb. He drew his finger back as the needle pricked his skin, then frowned fiercely at the blood that welled upon his skin.

“Your challenge is to create something with a Yuletide theme for Lady Jane from the items here. You will be given until the chapel bell tolls twelve.”

David lifted a length of cloth with the edge of his fingers as though it might bite him if he grasped it fully. “We can make anything?”

“Your goal here is to please Lady Jane,” her aunt reiterated. “Think about her as you make your plan.”

Jane saw a flash of temper in Bryce’s gaze. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he battled against himself. He paused, took a breath, then turned to Margaret. “Who will be the judge?”

“Lady Jane, of course.” Margaret glanced about the room. “Are you prepared?”

Jules frowned. “As ready as we will ever be.”

Nicholas nodded and reached for a square of green brocade. She could see the tension thrumming through him as he turned over ideas in his mind.

Not one of her suitors looked pleased with this latest challenge. Jane’s lips quirked. With her suitors off balance for a time, she might be able to regain a little of her own.

“Good luck,” Lady Margaret said, taking Jane’s hand and leading her toward the door. “We will return in two hours.”

Two hours.

Nicholas stared at the green cloth in his hands. He had to create something grand for Jane this morning if he were to win more time alone with her. What in the heavens could he create in two hours that would win him Jane?
He groaned as he selected a needle and a spindle of gold thread, then looked about the solar. The goal for this challenge was not to be the best, but simply not to be as terrible as everyone else.

“The only stitches I have ever laid were in a comrade’s shoulder,” Colin said as he selected a length of gold cloth.

“You are not alone there.” Jules plucked one piece of fabric after another from the basket, searching for inspiration among the remnants.

Only Lord Galloway looked pleased with the situation into which they had been thrust. He had grabbed a length of brown fabric and had already completed sewing the ends together into a casing of sorts. He then stuffed other pieces of fabric inside, before closing the ends. He tied a knot in the string and snipped the excess with his shears, looking very at ease with the process.

“Are you making a small pillow?” David asked, as he also noticed Lord Galloway’s comfort with a needle.

“No,” the confident laird answered as he set several pins across the length of the pillow. He took a handful of empty spindles and wound gold string around each one.