To Desire a Highlander (31 page)

It wasn’t about a more suitable place for seduction.

He wanted a better vantage.

It made perfect sense, she knew. How sad that it also riled her beyond all telling.

Chapter Twenty-Four

M
y sorrow, lass, that the room is still cold.” Roag pushed open the laird’s chamber door—if the largely bare room could even carry such a grand name—and stepped aside so Lady Gillian could enter. “The fire has only been lit a short while ago, but its heat should warm us soon enough.”

Indeed, he was pleased that his men had brought up the same fine-burning driftwood as in the hall’s great hearth. The sea-scented wood gave off a pleasant tang that was already beginning to haze the air, while the flames were a remarkable blue-green and almost iridescent. Such a fire was a startling oddity that fascinated him, but did not seem to enchant or excite the Spitfire of the Isles, who’d stopped just inside the door and folded her arms.

She did not look pleased.

She did glance about the room, her gaze taking in the bare stone floor, the four unadorned window embrasures, each tall arch-topped opening bearing shutters that
would surely fall into the sea before Roag’s time here was done—if the wind didn’t first blow them away, which seemed a distinct possibility.

Lady Gillian’s goods, the two crates from Castle Sway that held all her worldly possessions, had been placed in a corner near her bed. And someone had thoughtfully lit the wall torches and even the small brazier from her previous room.

An oil lamp hung on a chain as well, shedding light and a bit of additional warmth. Not far away, a small iron kettle sat beside a wall, hinting that heated water could be had without the trouble of men lugging a cauldron up the tower stair. It was a thoughtful gesture and Roag wished it’d been him and not his romantic-minded helmsman, Conn, who’d had the idea to provide the warming kettle.

The Irishman had also carried up a small stand to hold a ewer and basin for the lady’s ablutions.

All that had been done throughout the day while Roag and Lady Gillian had been on the cliffs, and later as well, when they’d supped in the hall with his men.

The chamber was as comfortable as Laddie’s Isle could offer.

To Roag’s mind, it could have been worse.

For sure, it was an improvement over the dank cell-like room she’d slept in until now.

This chamber had other advantages as well—ones he did not want to think about, and hoped would not be necessary.

If the wee isle should come under attack—something he hoped would never happen—this topmost chamber of the tower would provide Lady Gillian with the best possible refuge.

It was a consideration he couldn’t ignore. Not after her harrowing experience on the rocks, and knowing as he did now how easily determined men could climb the tower wall and reach her old chamber.

For that reason, he’d ordered several of his best fighters to sleep there—should the dragon ship they’d chased deign to return.

The lass would be safe here.

This chamber’s walls were thick, much sturdier than the half-crumbling room she’d used off the tower stair’s first landing. The outer stones would repel arrows, and although the window shutters were warped, these quarters were high above the isle’s most daunting cliff. Not even the most skilled climber could scale such a sheer, formidable rock face, eliminating the possibility of an attack from without.

And although there was no secret tunnel carved into the walls to allow a swift escape, there was a fresh water supply, thanks to a rather large stone urn on the roof. A tiny stair granted access to the tower’s narrow wall-walk where the urn collected rainwater, and such a boon could prove lifesaving if ever a raid or siege required her to hide away here.

He just hoped she’d never have to make use of the room’s amenities in such a dire way.

The rainwater could also provide the luxury of an easily readied bath.

Lady Gillian, highborn lass that she was, would surely appreciate such a nicety.

So he pushed aside his darker thoughts and forced a smile. “If you aren’t warm enough, I can fetch a small basket of peat to add to the fire.”

“I do not mind the chill.” She moved deeper into the room, the reserve in her voice proving he’d not erred in sensing her displeasure. “But I thank you for the fire. I have ever been fond of driftwood burning. My brothers always made sure there was a supply of such wood for my quarters at Sway.

“The scent will also be soothing to Skog.” She glanced to where her dog slept soundly on a plaid before the small hearth. “He will recognize the smell and the familiarity will comfort him.”

“The bed is the same.” Roag strode over to the pitiful cotlike bed, wishing its frame weren’t so crudely made, the mattress less lumpy. “My men and I expected nae more than to sleep wrapped in our plaids or on sea-grass pallets. This bed”—he reached to straighten the coverings—“was here when we arrived, as well you ken.

“If there were a finer one anywhere on this isle, it would be yours.” He looked at her again, her silence unsettling him. “Nae one thought to need more luxurious trappings.”

“That I know.” She went to one of the windows, set deep in a thick-walled embrasure, and stood looking out at the sea. “I understand why you prize this chamber,” she said, turning back to face him. “One can see to the ends of the world and beyond from up here. Such an outlook will serve you well.”

“I would hope you will find more comfort here, too, my lady.” He drew back a heavy but faded wall hanging, the only tapestry in the tower, and proudly showed her the small, rough-planked door near the foot of the bed. “This opens to a few steps that lead to the roof,” he told her. “This tower does not have true ramparts, but there
is a narrow wall-walk. In the corner of it, just above this chamber, is a large urn that gathers rainwater.

“You will have the ease of bathing as and when you wish. There is a washtub in thon corner.” He indicated a darker area of the room that, at this late hour, and without its wall torch burning, stood in deep shadow. When he saw that she’d spotted the tub and the stack of folded drying linens on a nearby three-legged stool, he glanced back to her, hoping this luxury, at least, would please her. “Shall I heat the water for you now?”

She bit her lip, looking from the bathing area to the little wooden door in the wall to the driftwood fire, and then again to him. “I would not trouble you, though…”

Roag grinned and strode to the door in the wall. Throwing it wide, he stepped aside so that she could see at least six small wooden pails lined up on the narrow stone steps that led to the roof. “You see, fair one, all is at the ready. A bath can be prepared anon.”

“Perhaps later, after…” She stood straighter, clasped her hands before her as if she did not want to speak the words dancing round on her tongue.

Roag figured she’d meant to say “after he’d left her in peace.” A courtesy he surely meant to give her. But he was not yet ready to go. His own mind was yet troubled by unspoken quandaries and he’d promised himself he’d voice them. This night, before he spent another one staring into the night blackness and wondering over what was beginning to plague him more and more as each day passed.

Determined, he went to the room’s last bit of meager luxury, a rather large oak table of much sturdier form and better quality than all other furnishings in the tower.

Just now, the table boasted a small repast of salt herring, cheese, and oatcakes, as well as a jug of ale. Two of the room’s torches blazed on the whitewashed wall above the dining niche and the light fell across the offerings.

“You will have dined well at Sway,” he said, hoping the humble viands would please her all the same.
If I were able, I’d have set out slices of cold, spiced venison and a whole, roasted capon, along with sugared almonds and custard pasties, rich red wine to enjoy with such a feast.

As is, my lady, I have provided what I could.

Not about to lay bare his thoughts, he spoke the best words he knew. “You did no’ eat much in the hall this night. If you are hungry”—he indicated the victuals—“there should be enough here to keep you until the morning.”

“I might have something,” she decided, pleasing him.

But she didn’t leave the window alcove. Instead, she glanced down at the empty stone benches that flanked the embrasure walls, her brow knitting again. “I think it has been many years since someone sat here and appreciated the view,” she said, the sadness in her voice piercing his heart. “I doubt Donell will have dressed the window benches properly. He was not a man to value such things.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, her face pensive. “I have heard that the laird before him was a man of similar bent. It is a shame for the tower, don’t you think, that no one ever truly cared for it?”

Roag blinked. “The tower?”

“Aye.” She nodded, trailing her fingers along the rough stone wall near the window arch. “You know the legend
of how this tower came to be. Each stone laid was put down by the men of passing ships, stopped to do honor to the wee lad who’d survived a shipwreck only to find an end alone on this isle.

“Over time, the stones were so many that from a cairn, this tower grew.” She looked at him, keeping her hand flat against the wall. “Those of us who live in these isles, places of such wild grandeur, know that the very things that make our world so wondrous cannot be without feeling themselves.”

Roag didn’t know what to say.

“You do not understand.” She spoke his mind for him.

“Can you blame me, lass?” He opted for truth.

“Then let me ask you this…” She came over to him, angling her head to peer up into his eyes. “Have you ever walked along the shore in the quiet time between gloaming and night? If you have done, did you chance to catch the glitter of star in a tidal pool? ’Tis a sight to see, I promise. Those who do are blessed, for we of the Hebrides believe we are then not seeing the twinkle of a distant star, but the eyes of the rock spirits looking back at us.”

“A lovely thought, I’ll no’ deny.”
You should be a poet, my lady, for your words are too fanciful to be believed.

He took a step closer to her, drawn by the freshness of her lavender scent, and—he didn’t care to admit—an odd tug on his emotions.

“You willnae be surprised that I have no’ spent much time thinking about rock sprites,” he said, lifting a hand to skim back her hair. “Nary a moment that I recall, nor even pondering the stars.”

How could I when the sparkle of your eyes dims their glory? Who needs Highland magic when wonder dwells beneath your own roof?

She smiled, her expression warming as if she’d heard his thoughts. “I do not blame you for doubting me,” she said, returning to the window and standing with her back to him, once more gazing out at the cold, dark night. “You are a town man and even more, hailing from a court where more Lowlanders walk than any people of the Highlands and the Isles.

“Our ways are different.” She stood straighter, her shoulders squaring. “We do believe there are spirits in the wind and fey beasties in the sea. We know the winter is a crone, and that the gods dance across the heavens on the coldest nights of the year, their whirling movements lighting the sky as their colorful veils and ribbons trail behind them. And we are aware”—she raised a hand, lifting a finger—“that stones not only walk and speak, but remember, seeing and absorbing all that happens around them.”

“So these stones are lonely?” Roag understood at last, leastways he grasped what she believed.

He just didn’t accept such nonsense.

“They have seen much, aye.” She lowered her hand, nodding. “And the most of it has been bleak. It could be they are smiling now, though. And that they will weep again when you leave. Something tells me that they like you.”

“Why should they do that?”

“You cannot guess?” She glanced at him, her eyes smiling.

Roag shook his head. “Sweet lass, I have pondered the thoughts of stones even less than tidal pool stars.”

“What a shame,” she said, her tone almost teasing. Her smile spread, curving her lips and lighting her face in a way that just might haunt his dreams. “I would’ve thought any Scot would know such things as surely as they breathe.” She tilted her head and looked at him, searchingly. “Consider this, that since you are here, the hall is filled nightly with men. Good cheer and laughter echo against stones that, perhaps, have thirsted for the like for centuries. I do not believe this was a merry keep in Donell’s day.

“It could also be that your hearth missed the joy of knowing it spent warmth to appreciative men.” She took a few steps toward him, her eyes shining in the torchlight. “And we mustn’t forget the stair tower. How glad the ancient steps must be to know they are again trod by living souls?”

“Indeed.” Roag had had enough. He didn’t much care if stones liked him. He wanted to know why he was ever more convinced that Lady Gillian loved her Hebridean home—all these isles and the waters around them, not just her own Castle Sway—far too much to even consider leaving.

Yet…