To Love a Highlander (12 page)

Once she’d been someone’s much-loved wife.

Now she accepted her existence as a wraith.

There was little else she could do.

A
penniless beggar?”

Sorley let a trace of humor lace his voice. For good measure, he also met Lady Mirabelle’s pointed gaze with wide, disbelieving eyes. He was well able to feign astonishment when situations demanded.

If any saints lingering in the chapel objected to his deception, so be it. As the King dutifully kept candles lit and incense burning, Sorley doubted any such vaunted beings would mind. There was even a precious phial of St. Mungo’s holy blood hidden away in a gold-and-jewel-encrusted box in a secret wall aumbry.

All that, the King did to honor his God.

Surely the saints wouldn’t take umbrage to a wee falsehood to protect men who guarded the King?

Sorley was certain that was so.

Either way…

Dealing with Lady Mirabelle called for caution.

To his horror, she was just as observant as he’d suspected. In his experience, women who were both intelligent and delectable were nothing but trouble. Already, she
stood before him like an avenging Valkyrie. Or perhaps a firebrand, her flame-colored hair tumbling to her hips, the unruly curls gleaming in the candlelight. She held herself as straight as if she’d swallowed a spear shaft. Her lovely lavender-blue eyes blazed. The rapid pulse beat at the base of her throat warned she was mightily vexed.

So was he.

But he was annoyed with himself, not her.

The Fenris generally kept their baser urges tethered around females who could endanger the secret engagements of their carefully-guarded order. A woman too clever or inquisitive was passed by for one who wasn’t. Prickly women were to be avoided at all costs. Every man walking knew that once such a female’s temper ignited, she could be trusted to do anything.

Mirabelle was more than a little prickly.

Secretly, Sorley admired how glorious she looked in her agitation.

A true vixen, she’d be insatiable once her passion was wakened.

Unable to help himself, he allowed his gaze to skim over her breasts. They were full and round, lush curves thrusting beneath her cloak. He was sure her nipples would be pert, well-tightened with the cold and her irritation. How he’d love to feel them harden even more, responding to his questing fingers. Better yet, his lips, as he teased and tasted her.

Her nipples would only whet his appetite.

She had other, even more tempting places he’d enjoy savoring. Deliciously feminine delights at the apex of her thighs, beckoning with silken heat, honeyed and molten. Knowing it was madness, he lowered his gaze, looking there now, imagining.

She noticed and frowned. “Don’t try to distract me. You were garbed as a beggar, this very morn. I know because I saw you.”

Sorley almost laughed. He wasn’t the distraction.

She was.

Hoping to turn the tables on her, he flashed his most devilish smile.

“You are mistaken, sweet.” He held his arms out to the sides, turning in a slow circle to give her a full and thorough view of his richly worked and costly raiment. “I enjoy garments of as high a quality as coin will buy. Having worn enough castoff and threadbare clothes as a lad, there is nothing on this good earth that could persuade me to don such rags again.”

“Perhaps a secret mission?” Brazen as aye, she tilted her head, studying him in a way that would’ve jellied his spine if he were a lesser man.

The look she was giving him also proved she had sharper wits than most.

She had recognized him at the Red Lion.

He just hoped she hadn’t also done so at St. Mary’s village.

His gut telling him she had, he did the only thing he could do and leaned toward her, treating her to his own special brand of a penetrating stare.

The kind he hoped would make her wish she’d kept silent with her nosy enquiries.

“My clandestine assignations, lass, have to do with you. Meeting you here is the only secret mission I have indulged in of late,” he lied, speaking softly against her ear. Nipping the lobe, he straightened, pleased to see surprised indignation flash across her features. “Or is it no’ your wish that we keep this rendezvous to ourselves?”

“This is a business matter, not an illicit meeting.” She went to the tomb he’d leaned against and walked its length, trailing her fingers along the stone. “I offered you good coin for the pleasure. Enough siller for you to purchase as many fancy gewgaws and fine clothes as you desire,
Dungal.”

“Dungal?” Sorley’s eyes widened.

Not because she’d remembered the fool name Roag had given him in the Red Lion’s stableyard, but because she was bold enough to challenge him.

Few women would.

Even fewer men would dare, for they feared his skill with weapons. They also knew he cared naught for the niceties of knightly warfare. If pressed, he’d use any means possible to win a fight.

He seldom lost.

And he only fought when he believed in a cause.

No one would accuse him of allowing himself to be bought. There were names for such men and he’d rather cut his own flesh than join their despicable ranks.

“Yes, Dungal.” Mirabelle lifted her chin and straightened her spine even more. “Look surprised all you wish. I know you heard me. There is nothing wrong with your ears, though you do seem a mite forgetful.”

I could say the same of you
, Sorley almost shot back at her.

Hadn’t it slipped her mind that they’d once danced a Highland reel? That she’d left him standing alone in the center of the hall, shaming him before all who’d been gathered there?

Men and women alike had laughed at him. A few good-hearted souls had turned aside, pretending not to have seen. Some had watched in pity, their sympathy cutting deeper than the others’ mirth.

Mirabelle was watching him now, one red-gold brow elegantly raised, a challenge in her eye.

Not wanting her to see his annoyance, Sorley leaned against a stone column and crossed his arms as if her use of the silly name meant nothing.

He wouldn’t mention the coin.

He’d told her once he didn’t want her money, and if she
said the like again, he’d prove it to her in a way that required no words.

Just now, he simply looked at her.

“I saw you at the inn. You were with another beggar.” She persisted in bedeviling him. Worse, her remarkable eyes sparked and a tantalizing flush spread across her cheekbones, making him wonder what she’d look like with a delicious tint of pink blooming across her breasts.

He was fond of lust-blushes. They proved a woman’s desire. Something told him Mirabelle’s passion would blossom more beautifully than that of any other female he’d ever known. It was a thought that set him like granite.

If she lowered her gaze, she’d see.

For once, he didn’t care.

He hitched up a corner of his mouth, if only to unsettle her. “Can it be you have an unhealthy interest in beggars, my lady?”

“If I do, it is because I know when someone is making a fool of me.” She didn’t turn a hair, her lovely lavender-blue eyes so serious he burned to grab her face and kiss her until the ridiculous earnestness was replaced by the fiery heat of urgent, naked desire.

He’d felt a fierce ache to possess her ever since he’d stepped into the chapel. Her agitation just made him want her more. Annoyance not only heightened her color and let her eyes blaze, but her breasts rose and fell so temptingly he could hardly bear to look at her. He was so primed, so hungry for her, that he was near to forgetting what honor he did have.

“I would ne’er make a fool of you.” He held her gaze, fought an irresistible urge to seize her, taking her here and now on the cold stone floor of the chapel. Or perhaps he’d rather catch her by the waist, plunk her down on the altar stone, toss up her skirts, and have her fast and furiously, as had surely been done on the stone in pagan days.

The thought made his blood heat even more.

His loins tightened unbearably.

As if she knew and wished to torment him, she paced a few steps away and then whirled to face him. The spin made her lustrous red-gold hair swing about her shoulders, the curling ends bouncing provocatively at her hips. It was a seductress’s trick. She employed it expertly, capturing his entire attention, fanning flames that already licked far too hotly at his groin.

“You are a man who would do anything.” She gave him a long, assessing look that made him feel almost guilty even though he’d done nothing wrong.

Far from it, he was here to help her.

And he was doing so against his better judgment. It scarce mattered how much he’d enjoy a taste of her. Or that he couldn’t wait to thrust his hands into her glossy unbound hair, even rub his face in the silken strands, inhaling deep of her summery rose scent. He’d kiss her thoroughly, too. Pull her so close, hold her so tightly, that her full, round breasts were crushed against his chest.

“So I am, aye.” He let a slow smile spread over his face. “I will do most anything. Even when I know I shouldn’t. There are times I just can’t help myself, see you? This is one of them.”

She blinked. “Does that mean you’ll do as I’ve asked?”

“So far as I can, aye.” The admission caused another fierce coil of heat to tighten in his loins. It was such an intense, pleasurable sensation that he rushed on, before he could change his mind. “I have conditions. If you agree to them, I will do everything—”

“What can be so difficult?” Unaware of the storm building inside him, she set her hands on her hips and gave him another long look from her great lavender-blue eyes. “It should be a simple matter. Something I’d have hoped you’d do without hesitation, even enjoying the task, given your known behavior at court.

“Folk say you are bold and daring.” She looked him up and down, her color rising again.

“I am glad to hear it.” Sorley hoped she’d think he meant his reputation with women.

She pounced, proving the sharpness of her wits. “Men say you are a Fen—”

“Men can say what they will.” Sorley bit back the urge to curse beneath his breath. His work for the King was the last thing he’d discuss with her

Her chin came up. “I believe you were on a Fenris mission at St. Mary’s, along with your bloodthirsty friend.”

She kept her chin raised, the gleam of the righteous in her lovely eyes. “He whipped off his beggar’s robe in the village and cut down an equally wild-eyed rogue who’d been hawking mutton stew and ale before he drew a sword and leaped to attack your friend. And that’s not all I saw.”

“Is that so?” Sorley cocked a brow.

She took a step closer, her hands still on her hips. “You argued with a monk in the market square. Maili, the serving girl from the inn, was with me. She needed to return to Stirling and asked if she could ride with us.”

Mirabelle leaned toward him, her rose perfume wafting close enough to tickle his nose. “She’s my witness.”

“Do you no’ want to hear my terms?” Sorley ignored her arguments. Lifting a lock of her hair, he rubbed it between his fingers, trying to distract her.

Maili was a good lass, but she was also too soft-hearted and trusting. She’d learned of the Fenris by chance, having once scooted beneath a tall four-poster bed at the Red Lion, hoping to clean away dust and cobwebs. Instead she’d heard an earful. She’d been an unwanted but ofttimes useful Fenris helpmate ever since.

She’d never willingly betray them.

Doing so unknowingly was another matter.

Sorley frowned, not for the first time thinking he could
do well without women in his life. If only they weren’t so damned appealing.

Lady Mirabelle drew him more than most.

In truth, more than any other female he had ever known. The ferocity of his attraction to her, and his body’s reaction when she was near, stunned him. And he wasn’t a man who was easily surprised.

He also knew better than to remain too long with her in the incense-scented, candlelit intimacy of the chapel. If they didn’t soon part ways for the night, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

“My stipulations,” he reminded her, half certain she must’ve bathed in rose oil for the sole purpose of deliberately arousing him. The scent was witchy, entirely too beguiling. “We must discuss particulars. The sooner that’s settled, the faster you’ll be rid of Sir John.”

“A moment, please.” She held up her hand. “The person making a business proposal is the one who decides how it should unfold.”

“No’ this time.” Sorley’s frown deepened, becoming a full-blown scowl.

“I need to be sure nothing goes wrong. You’re a dangerous man, capable of anything.” She stepped closer, her witchy perfume coming with her. “Especially after having seen you at St. Mary’s. There was an affray there, with swords. I’m sure you were involved. Fighting someone, likely even killing—”

“You haven’t seen me since we spoke on the battlements.” Sorley shook his head slowly and reached to cup her face in his hands. “If you doubt me, answer this. Have you ne’er heard what happens to a man after a swordfight or battle? The blood lust clings to him. It races through his blood, firing other urges. The kind that are sharper, more potent, than any blade of steel.” He leaned in, so near that he knew his breath warmed her cheek. “When that happens, my lady,
a man becomes a ravening beast. His hunger for a woman, for primal release, is so powerful he cannot withstand the temptation.