A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) (17 page)

“Sorry? Nay. I am no’ sorry.
Nervous
, perhaps, but no’ sorry.”

He raised himself on his elbow, the plaid slipping to his waist. Glinis felt a ripple of excitement tease her shoulders at the magnificent male body displayed so casually and intimately before her.

“Why nervous?”

She regarded him warily. “Well, I dinna ken where we go from here, do I?”

“And what d’ye mean by that?”

“Dinna toy wi’ me. Y
e ken what I mean.”

“Aye. But humour me.”

She rested her cheek on her knee. “Do we bury this as a forgotten incident? Carry on in secret? When Lord Kildrummond passes, I dinna think I’ll stay on at Glendalough whether or no’ Lachlan will have me there, so there is only so long this can last.”

Alex sta
red at her, incredulous. “Stay on at Glendalough? Are ye mad, woman? I dinna want some silly affair wi’ ye, for God’s sake. I want ye for my
wife
.”

Glinis snorted. “Is that so? Come now, Sir Alex, I’m too old for these games.”

He sat up, and raised her chin from her knees with his forefinger. “I play no games, my love. I want ye to marry me.”

“Dinna be daft.”

“I’m never daft.”

“I’m one and forty. I’ve ten years on ye at least.”

“Ye’re beautiful, and I dinna give a rat’s arse hole how many years ye have on me.”

“I have nothing to give ye but a dowager’s living.”

“I only want
ye
, and I can make my own living.”

Glinis laughed, and looked away. Her heart throbbed, and she felt as though she could squeal and flutter up into the sky. It was the young lass in her that had been denied the joys of
first love. The jaded, disillusioned part of her that had been forged by years of disappointment, however, was more wary.

“
Let’s no’ get ahead of ourselves just yet.” She stood, and reached for her rumpled gown. “First ye must concentrate on the task ahead of ye, and that is to come back from Arkinholm safe and sound.”

Alex conceded, though from the glint in his eye, she kne
w the debate was far from over.

The ride back
to Glendalough was a silent one, though the silence was not uneasy. Alex kept his sure, strong hand tight against Glinis’s belly. The gesture gave her a contentment she’d never imagined could be had from a lover. She gave in to it, and let her head rest against his shoulder for most of the journey. The rise and fall of his chest, his breath upon her hair, the beating of his heart deepened this sense of peace which was entirely new to her.

She hardly knew what to make of these feelings. She’d always wanted to be loved by John, but he’d never given her any reason to hope as she did now. She’d shared her bed a few times, and though she’d enjoyed the activity, nothing had remained once those young men had left her chamber. No peace, no contentment, no deep-seeded need for anything else they might have to give.

Not that they had anything else to give; they’d wanted no more of her than she’d wanted of them.

She could hardly deny now that it was love sh
e felt for Alexander MacByrne. And her heart told her that he did not lie, that he loved her too. Her head, however, warned  her that if her heart were wrong, the pain would be excruciating.

Alex, it seemed, could read her mind. Or else her face gave her thoughts away.

“I mean it, my Lady,” he said when she dismounted a short distance away from the rear gate. “I want ye for my wife. And I’ll return to ye from Arkinholm wanting nothing different.”

She breathed deeply, checking the excitement which threatened to burst from her chest
. “Aye, so ye said. Ye be safe.”

Dougall
MacFadyen was still on the wall walk when she came into view of the castle.

“
Lord in heaven, my Lady, what has happened to ye?” he called down to her.

“Dinna ask
. And if ye can keep hold of yer tongue about it, I’d much appreciate it. I’ll even see a handsome reward make it to yer purse.”

Dougall
levelled her with a look of disappointment. “My Lady, ye should ken well ye dinna need to bribe me. I’ve no’ seen ye this day at all, and that’s my final word on the matter.”

Fourteen

MOIRA HAD BEEN dreaming. A terrible dream of a galloping horse; a destrier as black as midnight. Its hooves were forged of steel, and they pounded the dirt as if they were pounding the drums of hell. Above, the sky was red with fire. The unholy light gleamed off the destrier’s slick, black body, and was reflected in its flat, dead eyes.

In
the dream she had stood, petrified, as the destrier tore a path directly for her. She tried to run, but her legs would not move. Her limbs were held ransom by the white hot fear that surged through every part of her body. She tried to scream, but the ragged pull of her breaths was the only sound other than the terrible drumbeat of the destrier’s steel hooves.

The beast rode forward, bringing carnage with it. And Moira could do nothing to
halt its advance.

She awoke suddenly. Her eyes met
not the light of a fire-red sky, but the mellow light of a grey dawn. Birdsong twittered beyond the covered windows, carried into the hut on a current of damp, cool air.

Beside her, Lachlan snored softly. His large body lay close beneath the quilts, providing warmth and comfort and
safety. The frantic thrumming of her heart died as the fear ebbed from her body.

Awake and able to reflect on her dream
, the cause of it was easily explained. Sir Alex had been gone for a little over a sennight, and for days, all of Kildrummond had been wondering when the battle would be—or if it had already taken place. With Arkinholm being the main topic of conversation for miles, Moira was bound to have such nightmares, was she not?

Thus soothing her frazzled thoughts, she allowed herself to drift back to sleep for
another precious hour. She dreamed again, but this time it was not unpleasant.

This time, she dreamed of a man.

There were no clear images in this dream, nothing but sounds and tastes, colours and scents. And desire, a flame of desire that burned in her veins and made her loins ache. She felt a strong, firm body press against her, and then move over top, trapping her with a pleasant weight. Moist, soft lips slid along her jaw; sure hands knitted into the sleep-dampened strands of her hair, traced the line of her arm and stroked the curve of her small, pert breast.

Then the lips
melted into hers. She succumbed, knowing nothing except that she wanted to drown in this dream. She opened her mouth to this unknown man, kissed him back with a passion to match his.

This was not the first time she’d dreamed of making love.
Many times had the dawn taken the nameless, faceless lover of her nights, and left behind the ache that she was forced to satisfy for herself. It was the first time her dream was so real, though. It was the first time scent and touch had been a significant feature. This dream was too wonderful to wake from; she could stay asleep for the rest of her life if all her dreams were like this.

But sleep was not a thing to be commanded. Moira could no more choose how long she stayed asleep than she could choose what she dreamed about.
As it always did eventually, sleep ebbed away, bringing reality with it.

And in reality, she discovered
... she’d not been dreaming.

The body that
hovered over her was no nameless, faceless lover. It was
Lachlan
.

It was Lachlan’s lips that were kissing her now, Lachlan’s hands that skimmed
the bare flesh beneath her shift.

It was Lachlan who took her breath away with the things he was doing to her.

The sleep that lingered in her brain stole from her the command of her own body. It was clear Lachlan was at least half asleep himself, yet she could not make herself rouse him. Of how much or little he was aware, she could not say. It made no difference; she could not make him stop. Could not make
herself
stop. The throb of desire was too strong, the need for satisfaction too great.

A part of her wondered: w
ould it really be so terrible if they broke the terms of their agreement?
Let it happen,
said that devious little voice in her head.
You want it, he wants it. Don’t fight it.

But another part of her
argued differently. The proud, wary part that had suffered a lifetime from the stigma of being John Douglas’s bastard daughter. John Douglas’s
plain
bastard daughter.

He does not really want you
, it taunted.
He only wants your body because he is not yet awake. He would regret it afterwards.

Panic
seized her. No, this could not happen. She was foolish to have even thought it might. When he woke, he would be sorry. He would reject her.

Well—s
he’d be damned if she’d let that happen. If anyone was to be rejected here, it would be
she
that rejected
him
.

“Lachlan, Lachlan wake up.” She shook his
shoulders.

“No lass, let me no’ wake,” he murmured
against her lips.

She pushed harder. “Lachlan—no!
”

Her
urgency broke through his curtain of sleep, and he stared at her, confused. Then astonished.

“God’s bones, I am sorry.
I—I dinna ken what came over me.”

Just as she’d thought: he regretted it. It was clear by the shocked look on his face.

It was no more than Moira had been expecting, and yet... his regret stung more than she imagined it would.

That sting soon turned to anger—a
nger at herself for being hurt in the first place. Of
course
Lachlan had reacted no differently than she expected he would, the arrogant sod! What right did she have to hurt feelings? She’d saved her pride; that was the important thing. Her heart had no business being bruised.

“Moira?” He searched her face, anxious that she should say something. His body still straddled hers, his weight still pressed her into the mattress.

“Dinna fash. Ye didna ken what ye were doing.” She smiled a tight, awkward smile.

He made no move to release her.
“Ye ken I’d never hurt ye, lass, right? Not so much as a hair on yer head, I swear it. I didna mean to frighten ye.”

“Ye didna, and
there is no need to say anything more about it. ‘Tis forgotten.”

Eager to put the incident behind them, she s
quirmed out from under his body. This, however, put her between him and the wall. To avoid climbing over his body, she crawled over the foot of the bed.

She
kept her eyes away from him as she dressed herself and set about her business. But the whole time she was keenly aware that he was watching her. She did not want to see the expression on his face—whatever it might be.

She did not want
him
to see how much she was hurting.

The rest of the morning passed
in an uncomfortable silence. What little words they did exchanged were forced, overly polite. The animals were let out of their pens, the breakfast was cooked and the peat logs stacked. All the while, the pair worked as though they hardly knew each other. As though they were right back at the start of their liar’s marriage.

Niall
offered a reprieve from the tension when he paid them a visit. They were both outside in the yard—she scrubbing the laundry over a steaming barrel of water and lye soap, and he cutting new turf logs from a stack at the side of the hut—when the eldest MacCormack lad cantered in on his family’s lone mare. 

The grin on his face
might have been the light of dawn itself.

“Moira!
” He jumped down from the saddle and ran the short distance to her, not even bothering to tie up the speckled grey animal. “Moira, ye’ll never believe what happened.”

“What
? What is it?” She shook the water from her hands. Curious, Lachlan came around the side of the hut to hear the news.

“
I called for Janet—ye remember she said I should call for her? And she were home as she said she’d be, and we took a walk as she said we should, and we talked—Moira, I
talked
wi’ her, actual words and all. We talked about so many things, we did, and... well, she kissed me. She
kissed
me!”

Overcome,
Niall swung Moira into a huge embrace and whirled her around.

“Oh, Niall, that’s grand. I’m so pleased for ye
.” And she was. Her heart soared for her friend, forgetting for a moment the dull ache she’d been trying to put behind her all morning.

“W
here’d she kiss ye, lad?” Lachlan put in, raising one dark eyebrow suggestively. His remark earned him a disgusted huff from his wife.

“Behind my da’s brewing shed
,” Niall answered, oblivious to the viscount’s lewd insinuation.

Moira and Lachlan
looked at one another, and laughed.

F
rom that point on the awkwardness between them lessened. They accompanied Niall back to the MacCormack home in the village, and stayed awhile to visit with his family. Niall chattered the entire way, describing everything from the way the sun glinted off Janet’s honey hair to the titter of her giggle when Niall had stupidly thanked her for kissing him. Poor Mary MacCormack had to shout over his babbling to offer her guests a drink.

Warmed by the ale and the hospitality
, they set out for a day at Glendalough. Most of the journey was passed in a more amiable silence than had been earlier, and Moira hoped Lachlan would say nothing more of the incident.

She was not so lucky.

“Moira,” he hedged as the castle came into view. “D’ye forgive me for what happened? I mean truly forgive me?”

“I told ye
, ‘tis forgotten.”

“Ye say that, but is it really?”

“D’ye no’ believe me?”

He paused, raking a long glance over her that smouldered
far more than it should have.

“I wouldna say I dinna believe ye, exactly.”

“Then what?”

“I think ye’re determined to believe yer own words. Ye’re a woman of great pride, lass. I think ye’d no’ wish to admit ye were frightened.”

She stared ahead, one eyebrow cocked and the other furrowed. “Well, dinna ye just ken everything, my Lord Strathcairn. Am I allowed to remark upon the fine weather we’re having, or would ye think I were deluding myself in that also?”

Her terseness
did not have the effect she intended. He laughed.

“Have mercy upon me, sweetling. If I didna ken any better, I’d say ye’re harder on me than ye are on any other man in the Highlands.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted reluctantly. “We are married, though, so ye should hardly be surprised.”

“Ah, Moira. Ye’ve a sharp wit, that’s for sure. In all seriousness, I didna mean to offend ye. And I meant to tell ye that
... that I respect ye greatly.”

“I’m flattered,” she answered dryly.

“Nay, hear me out. I have come to respect and like ye a great deal. I would never wish ye to be afraid of me. I’d never wish for ye to think that I might harm ye, or disrespect ye in any way. I want ye to ken that.”

She had not expected him to say such things
. He certainly hadn’t been obligated to, but his declaration made her feel a touch better. So he did not desire her—it was nothing she didn’t already know. But he respected her, and liked her. She could be satisfied with that.

“Thank ye,” she said simply.

“Ye’re welcome. And thank ye, in return.”

“
For what?”

She raised her
eyes to his, and was rendered senseless by his intense gaze. How did he
do
that?

“For being a friend. I think ye must be the only lass on earth that desires me for my company alone. I’m glad I’ve met ye.”

“Well... em... likewise,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing scarlet.

Soon after they
reached the bailey, where awaiting ghillies rushed forward to take their horses. Eamon Douglas, Glendalough’s steward, was waiting for them too, and once they’d dismounted, he rushed forward with a list of items which needed the viscount’s immediate attention.

Moira stepped aside and let the man of ac
counts whisk Lachlan away. Once she was alone, she headed to the same place she went every time she came to the castle: Lord Kildrummond’s chamber.

As she walked through the empty halls, she went over their recent conversation in her head.
What a curious thing for him to have said.
I think ye must be the only lass on earth that desires me for my company alone
. Had he meant to say he was tired of being handsome?

Her first
inclination was to scoff at such a ridiculous notion. What a thing to complain about, as if being handsome were a curse.

But a small, private part of her
saw logic in the idea. Was she herself not frustrated that handsome, silly men like Lachlan had no interest in her company? The earl’s illegitimate daughter with neither looks nor title to recommend her?