Highland Hero (25 page)

“I am looking for Slayer,” she answered, not looking at him for fear he would see that she was lying. “There was a mouse in the kitchens. He should be down there hunting.”

“He wasnae in here when I came in and I shut the door.”

“And it has stayed shut?” She looked under the bed and idly noted that she needed to clean under there sometime soon.

He grimaced as he suddenly recalled a few incidents, ones caused by the ghosts he was still struggling to ignore and deny the existence of. “There was a brief time when it was difficult to keep the door shut.”

“Oh. Sorry. I never have visitors, weel, living ones leastwise, and ye are of great interest.” She stood up, brushed off her hands, and realized that he had moved closer. “I will speak to them but I cannae promise that they will heed me.”

When he stepped even closer and reached out to trail his long fingers down the sleeve of her gown, she trembled. She clasped her hands behind her back, not wishing to let him see how they shook. There was a soft look in Kenneth’s brown eyes that told her Pullhair was right. Kenneth did want her. Isbel prayed that she had tempted the man enough, that he would now push all of his fanciful thoughts of honor aside. A strong sense of honor would have him pushing her out the door soon and that was the last thing she wanted.

Kenneth gently grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her close, smiling faintly when he felt her trembling beneath his hands. “Isbel, did ye truly come to find your cat?”

“Do ye really wish to hear the truth?” she asked in a soft, unsteady voice.

“Aye, I have always favored the truth,” he murmured and touched a kiss to her forehead.

“Nay, I didnae come to find the cat.”

“What did ye come to find?” He cupped her face between his hands and brushed a kiss over her faintly parted lips.

“Another kiss,” she whispered.

“Isbel, my sweet child of the faeries, if I kiss you, ’twill nae end there.”

“I am nay an innocent. I ken what the kiss could lead to.”

“There will be no
could
about it. It will lead to a bedding. Ye pulled away from the first kiss we shared and I let you. I cannae promise I will let ye free this time. Not unless ye put up a verra loud protest.”

“I willnae put up a loud one.” She curled her arms around his neck. “I dinnae think I will be inclined to even whisper one.”

“Before we start to play this game, honor demands that I tell ye a few rules. I cannae promise ye I will stay—” He frowned when she stopped his words by touching her soft fingertips to his lips.

“I ken that there will be no promises made. I ask for none, save for a wee taste of the passion I felt when we kissed.”

“Aye, that I can give ye easily enough. But are ye sure ye dinnae want more of me?”

“I didnae say I dinnae want more, just that I dinnae ask for it and accept that ye may ne’er wish to offer me more.”

“Most lasses would want more.”

She smiled and stood on her tiptoes, bringing her mouth close to kiss. “As ye may have guessed by now, I am nay like most women.”

Kenneth laughed and picked her up then placed her gently on the bed. As he sprawled on top of her, he could not help but wonder if this was some dream. He had had enough of them about having Isbel in his bed, willing and eager. He could simply be having a particularly vivid one.

As he slowly pulled the ribbon from her hair and ran his fingers through the thick waves of soft hair, he decided he would ask no more questions. A dream as real as this was not one he wished to interrupt.

The moment Kenneth began to kiss her, Isbel knew she had made the right choice. If he did leave her, she would at least have sweet memories to ease her pain. Instinct told her that a passion as strong as this did not enter a person’s life too often, and if she let him leave without fully tasting it at least once, she would regret it for the rest of her life. She wrapped her arms around him, met the ferocity of his kiss and equaled it, and let her desires rule.

Kenneth sighed with a mixture of satisfaction and regret as he finally eased away from the intimate embrace he and Isbel were locked in. He flopped onto his back, immediately reached for her, and pulled her into his arms. Although he was no profligate, he was not without experience and he knew he had never felt a desire so strong or found lovemaking so richly satisfying. Isbel was all any man could want in a woman.Unfortunately, she was also everything a man should not look for in a wife.

He smiled faintly when she snuggled up against him. He idly moved his hand up and down her side, testing the smallness of her waist, and exploring the gentle curve of her hip. Isbel was a woman of passion, had a quick wit, was beautiful and honest. She was poor in wealth and land, had a strange family history, had a brownie as her closest friend, and seemed to be surrounded by ghosts and all else that most people spoke of in fearful whispers. Kenneth delighted in the former and heartily cursed the rest.

“So, sweet Isbel, have ye found what ye sought?” he asked.

“Nay, ye were right, Slayer isnae here.” She grinned when he laughed.

“Wench.” He dragged her on top of him and gave her a quick kiss. “Ye could at least try to flatter a poor mon.”

“Ah, ye need your vanity stroked.”

“That and one or two other things.”

“Beast. Aye, I found what I was looking for. And how fares your sense of honor?”

“ ’Tis a wee bit bruised, but it will survive.”

“Good, for I meant all I said.”

“I believe you, and yet, ’tis odd but that makes me feel slightly guilty.” He smiled crookedly when she giggled.

“Shall I leave you alone to wallow in it?”

“Try to move, my bonnie spirit, and I shall be forced to take swift and immediate—” He frowned when he suddenly noticed a faint shifting in the shadows. “I am nay admitting that I believe in ghosts, but are ye certain we have been private?”

Isbel sat up and glared at the specter lurking in the corner of the room. “Get out of here, Mary.”

“Ye have betrayed Patrick.” The old woman’s voice echoed in her mind, and a quick glance at Kenneth assured Isbel that she was the only one who had heard Mary.

“Nay, I am a widow. Have been one for near to a year. Now be away with you.” The moment the woman disappeared, Isbel assured Kenneth, “I did look o’er the room ’ere ye kissed me and saw no one so I believe we had our privacy.”

Even as she spoke, she realized Kenneth was not paying her any attention. His gaze was fixed firmly on her breasts. She blushed as she became aware of how much of herself she had exposed by sitting up.

When Kenneth reached out and covered her breasts with his hands, she murmured in pleasure. “I dinnae suppose ye are doing that to preserve my modesty.”

“Nay, I dinnae suppose I am.”

She laughed as he pulled her to him. Her happiness might be short-lived but she was determined to luxuriate in it while she could.

Chapter 7

“I wish ye could help instead of just watching,” Kenneth grumbled at the faint image of the young boy that floated along at his side.

He picked up a piece of fallen tree branch and tossed it into the little cart he dragged along behind him. Collecting firewood was a menial task for a knight, but he had to admit that he enjoyed it. It was pleasant to walk through the sunlit forest on a crisp fall day.

It had been a fortnight since he and Isbel had become lovers, and he had almost immediately begun to help with the work around Bandal. At Glenmal he had done his share of the work but only that deemed worthy of a knight. At Bandal there were no servants to leave the less desirable chores to—only Pullhair, who arrived every day at sunset.

As he bent down to pick up another piece of wood, Kenneth suddenly found himself face-to-face with a very small creature. Not daring to even blink, he studied the thing floating just in front of his nose. It was a woman, a very small woman with wings. His mind told him it was a fairy, but he did not wish to hear that. The tiny woman suddenly grinned and Kenneth gaped. She looked exactly like Isbel. He gasped in shock and straightened up. For one brief moment the creature stayed right before him. Then she vanished.

He glanced at the ghost of the small boy, who smiled shyly, then back to the place where he had seen the tiny winged lady, and shuddered. What was happening to him? He was seeing things he should not be able to see. Worse, he realized with a start, he was accepting such things as if they were a normal part of life. He treated Pullhair as a friend, a man he could talk with about most anything. Ghosts flitted in and out of his sight and he did not even twitch, had even begun to talk to them. Yesterday, he was sure he had heard one of them answer. When Isbel had told him not to go outside two nights ago because the Sluagh were riding, he had accepted her words without question and stayed indoors. And now he had fairies popping up in front of him and grinning at him.

“Nay,” he snapped as he threw the firewood into the cart. “I willnae be pulled into that pit of madness.”

Kenneth was not really surprised to see that the boy had vanished. He was a very timid ghost. Dragging the little cart behind him, Kenneth started back to the tower house. His steps slowed a little as he neared the heavy gates of Bandal and he began to wonder what to do next.

While his anger had been hot, he had intended to march into Bandal, leave the firewood, and forcefully announce that he was leaving for Glenmal in the morning. He knew he could not do so, yet he also knew he had to leave. Each day he stayed with her, each day he breathed the air of Bandal, he became more deeply mired in its strangeness. If he did not get away very soon, he never would, because each day he also found himself becoming more and more willing to stay in Isbel’s slender arms.

Isbel smiled at him as he entered the kitchen and he felt his heart sink. Leaving a lover had never been very hard for him. He would fill their ears with words of gratitude and sweet regret, give them some gift and ride away. For some reason he could not even consider treating Isbel that way. He knew he was going to have to be completely truthful, and for one brief moment he resented her for not allowing him to play the same game that he always had.

“I think I saw an elf,” he announced, watching Isbel closely as he put the wood he had collected in a box by the fireplace.

There was a tone to his voice that made Isbel tense. She was not sure if it was anger she heard, but she was certain that he was far from pleased. A harsh curse echoed through her mind. He had accepted Pullhair and seemed at ease with the ghosts, but she knew he still did not want to believe in it all. Now he had seen one of the truly fabled creatures of the netherworld. It had to have recalled him to the fact that he was in a very strange place seeing things he did not want to see. The fates could have chosen a more willing recipient of such gifts, she thought crossly as she began to knead her bread with more force than was needed.

“A lass or a laddie?” she asked with hard-won calm.

“A lass. I bent down to pick up some wood and there she was right in front of me, so close she could have tweaked my nose.”

“Ye must have startled her from her hiding place.”

“Nay, she didnae look startled and I didnae flush her out of some bramble. She just appeared. Now that I think on it, she looked curious.”

“Aye, faeries can be very curious.”

“And she looked like you.”

He said the words in a cool, flat voice. There was no compliment intended, but no insult either. Kenneth had just been strongly reminded of her unusual bloodline and he did not like it at all. Isbel struggled against a sudden urge to weep and flee the room. She knew what was coming next—the farewell. He was going to flee Bandal before he could see or learn any more.

For one brief moment she wondered if the faeries had sent one of their own to appear before him. They knew everything that happened at Bandal so they knew how badly she wanted Kenneth to stay with her and how uneasy he was about the magic of Bandal. It would not take much thought to realize that he only needed to see a few too many of the spirit world’s secrets in quick succession to be sent running home.

Inwardly she shook her head. She could not blame the faeries or the ghosts or even Pullhair. Such things had always been hard for mortals to bear. It would have been wondrous if Kenneth had been different, but she should not condemn him because he was not, nor should she try and grasp some reason, some place or person to blame.

“I am sorry ye were given a fright,” she said quietly.

“Nay, not a fright really.” He stepped up beside her and idly stroked the thick braid hanging down her slender back. “I was but awakened to all I have been skillfully ignoring.”

“Aye, I understand.”

“Do ye? Ye were born to this. I was not. Ye have probably been taught that ghosts, faeries, and all such creatures are but a part of life. I was taught that they were the creatures of dreams, nay, nightmares. Ye were taught to understand them. I was taught to fear them.”

She wiped the flour from her hands and turned to face him. “I could teach you to understand.”

“Could ye? I am eight and twenty and was taught my fears as a child. ’Tisnae easy to banish the lessons set firmly in one’s mind and heart whilst he was still young.”

“And ye arenae sure ye really want to understand.”

Kenneth could see the hurt in her wide blue eyes. He could even feel it and that disturbed him. It implied that he was truly and deeply bonded to Isbel and he did not think he wanted to be that close to her, to anyone. Such closeness left one’s heart bared to sorrow and pain. That was something any reasonable man would shy away from. As he stared into her captivatingly beautiful eyes, he was not sure how reasonable he would remain if he stayed with her. The only thing he could be grateful for was that she had no idea of the power she had over him.

“Nay, I dinnae think I do. Lass, do ye ken how close ye stand to the secrets death holds? Ye are knee deep in the spirits of ones who have died and e’en ken where they journey to or at least the path they must take. That alone is enough to make a hardened warrior tremble.”