Warrior and the Wanderer (21 page)

He opened one eye and stared at her. “Just one more hour, Blaze.” Then he closed his eye.

“Get ye up from this bed and into yon tub, or I’ll smack your backside again!”

Ian opened his eye and smiled at her.

“I love it when you use the sweet talk, Blaze. Get into bed with me. The queen can wait.”

He reached out to her with one arm.

She slipped from the bed leaving him with nothing more than a whisper of bedclothes between his fingers.

“If you’re not going to join me, then let me sleep. This is the most comfortable bed I’ve been in since I left Nevada.”

“Nevada?” she asked. “Where is that?”

“Uh, nowhere important…What smells so good?”

“’Tis our breakfast which grows cold as long as ye languish in my bed.”

He had evaded her question. Nevada. Was it in Spain? Had Ian been there?

Holding the bedclothes around her body, Bess pulled away from the bed. She stood over the tub letting the steam warm her from the sudden chill that swept across her body. Trying her best, she could not contain the myriad of thoughts that raced though her mind about the man in her bed.

Ian had suddenly entered her life as if from nowhere. He rescued her from drowning, had helped her get an annulment from Lachlan, sang like no one she had ever heard, gifted her with the queen’s favor, and had made love to her several unforgettable times. What did it matter that she did not know much about him? He had promised to be her witness against Lachlan. That was all that should matter to her now.

So, stop being so suspicious of Ian, she told herself, and enjoy a moment or two of bliss before ye set about to exact yer revenge on Lachlan and prove yer mettle as chief.

Stolen moments were all she had this ’morn. The hour for her and Ian to be at court was growing near.

She let the bedclothes drop to the floor in a pile around her ankles.

“C’mon,” she said with a slight tilt to her head. “I ken ye want it.”

Ian’s eye widened.

She smiled. “A bath, I meant. I ken that’s what ye want. Ye’ve made no secret that ye are partial to them.”

Like Lachlan had been. She thrashed that notion from her mind. Ian was nothing like Lachlan.

“You don’t
ken
me very well, Blaze,” he said from the pillow.

He spoke the truth. What she did know of him, she feared was not very much.

Slowly, Ian slid his long, strong legs over the edge of the bed. Bess gasped.

“Just an erection, Blaze. Ye’ve seen it before,” Ian said behind a yawn.

“Aye,” she breathed. “Now, get ye into the bath.”

Ian yawned again, boyishly rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched his arms wide, the muscles tightening, making Bess’s knees weaken.

“In the tub,” she whispered.

He walked across the floor, scratched his side and then his head, ruffling his dark locks until they stood in haphazard spikes. “No coffee?” He mimicked drinking from a cup.

She nodded to the table beside the tub with a pitcher of beer and a pewter cup beside it. He looked in the pitcher and sniffed the air. “Interesting choice.”

He poured himself a cup, and then took a small loaf of bread from the trencher. He stared into the bath taking a large bite of bread before stepping into the tub and settling down into the water.

Watching him, Bess reached down and took up a bar of lavender soap and her
sqian dhu
. She joined Ian in the bath at the opposite end on the tub.

Ian stared at her, stopping in mid-chew. She faced him, kneeling between his legs.

“Stop chewing and hold steady,” she said.

Ian did as ordered after taking one long swallow of the beer before setting the cup and the bread on the table.

Bess kept her gaze steady on him, the vapors from the soap and the steam rising around them.

She leaned forward and smeared the lather form the soap onto the dark bristles across Ian’s hard jaw. He kept his gaze steady on her. She tried to keep her mind to her task.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Wheesht,” she whispered, reaching to the table, taking up her
sqian dhu
. She placed the blade to the side of Ian’s neck. He grabbed her wrist, startling her.

Eyes locked with hers, he said, “Have you done this before?”

“Aye, I have.”

“But you don’t shave yourself.”

“Why should I shave myself. I’m no French.”

“You don’t wax either.” He reached down and patted between her legs. She did not flinch. Held her blade steady.

“So odd ye are. If ye must ken, I have shaved my brother and father. ’Tis a symbol of fealty to do so.”

“Fealty?” He took his hand away from between her legs.

“Means respect. Now, hold steady.”

“Respect,” he repeated with a grin.

“Trust that I willnae cut ye,” she said. “As I trusted ye last night.”

“Was it wonderful…trusting me?” He offered her that crooked smile.

“Ye ken it was,” she replied. “Now, wheesht.”

He leaned back against the tub and closed his eyes.

She shaved him and wondered why he had thought she should have shaved own body. Had he been with French lassies who did so? Nevada in Spain. Shaved lassies from France. From the way Ian spoke, he had been everywhere.

“I watched me mum scrape away my da’s whiskers before he went to further the cause of our clan,” she said. “That’s how I ken to do this task.”

Ian remained silent, listening to her.

“Me mum removed me da’s whiskers before he went to Flodden. He didnae return. Two years later, me mum died. They say ’twas from a broken heart.”

She scraped the blade over the hard angle of his jaw to the center of his bold chin. She swished the knife free of soap and bristles in the water and continued. She would reveal no more memories this day.

Ian opened his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“’Twas a long time ago. Now wheesht, lest I cut ye.”

“Blaze…Bess—”

“I said ‘wheesht’. I’ll no’ have ye giving me sympathy.” She scrapped the whiskers from the top of his lip. “After I get Her Majesty’s censure against Lachlan signed and sealed, I will make good on my promise to ye. I’ll take ye back to where we first met.”

She finished shaving him, and placed the knife on the table.

Ian just stared at her, face free of whiskers making her wish she had not tidied him up. He was far too handsome for his own bloody good, whiskers or no’.

“I will leave you, aye, Blaze. I must. But you have your clan. And they need you.”

He lathered the soap between his large hands before dropping it back into the water. Bess leaned against her side of the tub.

“Where did ye come from?” she asked.

“My mother and my father, God rest their souls.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Blaze. But I don’t have to answer it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to do this instead.”

He drew a path of soap between her breasts, down to her belly, and beneath the water. She closed her eyes and shuddered deep from the very center of her content for the moment to wait for Ian to answer her question.

He parted her thighs. She leaned heavily against him. His touch was expert and exquisite. She breathed into the side of his neck, in little gasps. Ian held her firmly with one arm, not allowing her escape from the pleasure he bestowed on her. His touch made every part of her grow weak forcing her to cry out in pleasure.

He held her as she shuddered against him, small moans slipping over her lips. He kissed her, muffling her sounds.

When Ian broke the kiss, she looked at him through the steam-dampened locks of her hair. He pushed the hair away from her face and grinned.

“Let’s go see the queen,” he said.

She found the strength to say, “A-aye.”

* * * *

There was one thing Ian would not tell Bess despite her pressing him. Diverting her attention was easy and as long as they were naked and alone.

He could never tell her was what time he came from. She could never understand or believe him. If he were in her shoes and someone told him they splashed down from five hundred years into the future, he would probably scream, “witch!” too. He had imagined telling her, had been on the cusp of telling her, but never saw the point in telling her. As well as he could never see the point in telling her that a timekeeper troll from Scandinavia brought him here to save her life, which will keep the world in balance. Oh, aye, and he had to make sure he got back to his own time within twenty-four days of crashing down in this time and place or the whole space-time continuum would crumble.

There was a lot to keep secret from the woman who had given him the best night of his life. He would give her anything, except for the truth.

Ian followed Bess down a narrow corridor where they could only walk in single file. She occasionally tossed wary glances over her shoulder at him as if she were surprised he chose to follow behind her. In her world that probably was not done, but Ian was not from her world. He was protecting her. She would never know it. If she knew it, she would probably punch him in the jaw again. That was her style.

His style was to keep his mouth shut and not tell her anything Spittal had told him about Lachlan coming to the castle. He knew about stage fright. He wanted Bess to be her bold, Warrior Princess self, when she went to the queen to state her case.

Bess wore her traveling clothes, the linen and wool, freshly brushed. Ian was wearing his familiar clothes underneath the plaid Bess had wrapped over him. She said it would help him show a connection to her part of Scotland. Ian agreed to whatever would help her. Once she had seen the queen, told her about Lachlan with Ian backing her up as her witness, and had gotten whatever royal paperwork she needed, Bess would be quickly on her way to her clan. Ian would be on his way too, on his way home, after she took him to where they first met. That was their agreement.

As long as they took care of business before Lachlan showed up. According to Spittal, Bess’ ex-husband would arrive in Edinburgh for another two days. They would be long gone by then. If everything worked out.

Ian drew in a long sigh. Bess glanced over her shoulder at him. He gave her a confident smile, and then a warning.

“Blaze, turn arou—”

Too late. She ran smack into the Duke of Argyll.

“M’Lord!” she exclaimed, giving him a hasty curtsy.

The Duke grunted and adjusted his clothing.

“Lady Campbell,” he said with a curt nod.

“Is Her Majesty within her outer chamber?” Bess asked, wasting no time in getting to the meat of the matter.

The Duke shifted his gaze over her shoulder centering it on Ian. His expression dark and distressed. The man had an awful poker face. Something was rotten in Edinburgh.

“M’Lord?” Bess pressed. “Is Her Majesty within?”

The Duke looked at her giving his best imitation of a confident smile.

“I’m afraid…,” he began, but paused and looked up at the curved ceiling. He looked anywhere but at Bess.

Ian stepped forward. “You should be afraid that this lass is going to wallop you into next week if you don’t hurry up and tell us what’s what.”

The Duke stared hard at Ian, and asked Bess, “Is this MacLean your champion?”

“He isnae,” she replied. “My champion is Alasdair MacAlister, but he is readying our mounts. We will depart as soon as possible after we see the queen.”

“Aye, um…aye,” the Duke sighed.

“Out with it,” Ian said. This man in silk and velvet was in their way.

“Her Majesty departed for Stirling quite early, at dawn. Her intention is to press the council for her right to unencumbered visits with her son, the King. Apparently, she was greatly influenced to turn her back on all of her other duties and press her will in this matter by a song from this MacLean, m’Lady.”

“Shite,” Ian said under his breath, he had forgotten that he had sung something to the queen last night other than that same Righteous Brothers tune she wanted to hear over and over.

Bess did not hesitate to whirl around and show him the wrath in the Warrior Princess’s eyes. “What song, Ian?” she demanded flatly.

“She started crying about her son all alone without her. I wanted her to stop, so I sang the first song that I thought of, one I used to sing to my mother.” Back when his mother could smile.

“What is it?” she pressed

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“
What is it?
”

“By two English bards called Lennon and McCartney. ‘Let It Be’.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and snarled. “
Neach dìolain.
”

“I know what that means, and, aye, I am a bastard. I never knew my father. I spent most of my childhood trying to make my bi-polar mother happy. Singing to her was the way to do that. ‘Let It Be” is a comforting song about Mother Mary.”