Ian nodded. “Why don’t you show me where the clearing is now, instead of tonight? ’Twould be easier in the daylight, and you wouldn’t miss any sleep.”
Claire glanced at the few pickings she had gathered.
“Unless you must pick more …” he peered into her basket, “… er, weeds?”
Claire laughed. “Picking weeds would be more plentiful, to be sure, but not quite as tasty.”
“We shall return before the evening meal. Is the clearing so deep in the woods it will take longer?”
“While it is a fair distance, we can make it back in time to eat.”
“Very well. Take the greens to the kitchen, and I will bring your horse to you at the front of the keep.” He left for the stables, marveling at the intelligence of his betrothed. How had he not thought of such a plan?
Wedding Claire would prove a great blessing if she had more ideas for the keep and land. Her sound judgment and reasoning were a pleasant surprise. They had been congenial this day, building his hope for their future together. He must continue wooing her—at least into a friendship of sorts. Perhaps a kiss would aid his venture. Last eve, after they had counted his coin, he almost attempted a quick kiss. Her beauty in the light of the fire fair stole the breath from his lungs. Though skittish, Claire hadn’t rebuffed his hand on her lovely hair. Perhaps he would yet find success in the wooing of his betrothed.
Ian smiled as he strode toward the stables. Perhaps he could devise a way to steal a kiss from Claire’s rosy lips.
Chapter 17
Claire smiled as she set the basket of greens—or weeds, as Ian would argue—on the kitchen table. Whether vegetables or weeds, they would enter the pot for supper. She washed her hands and then quickly plaited her hair before meeting Ian at the front of the keep. It wasn’t that she desired to look nice for her betrothed, but surely she should begin the venture in at least some semblance of order.
“Where ye be off to, my lady?” Leticia pulled the smattering of greens from Claire’s basket.
“I am to show Ian the clearing in the woods.”
“Not the Scot?” Leticia chuckled at her imitation of the contempt she had so often heard in Claire’s voice when she referred to her intended.
Claire tied off her braid and thrust up her chin. “I cannot keep calling him the Scot forever.”
Alma and Leticia glanced at each other, their knowing smiles causing Claire’s cheeks to flame hotter. Faith, what was wrong with her?
Without another glance at them, she took off her apron and left the kitchen. Was it obvious that her hatred for the Scot had diminished? Claire reached the door leading to the bailey where she paused to smooth her gown. She closed her eyes and grimaced. What was she doing? She must keep up her guard. Not dishonor her parents by falling for a Scot. Nay! She would not succumb to his charm. Shoulders back, she thrust open the door and walked into the bright sunshine.
Ian waited with two horses in hand. As she neared her horse, he moved to help her mount. Against her better judgement, she allowed him to slip his hands around her waist. His grip firm, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing.
“Thank you,” she said, and then regretted it, seeing his handsome smile.
“Your manners have vastly improved since you’ve seen my coin.”
“Your coin improves my home and makes you vastly more tolerable.”
Ian threw back his head and laughed. “You have a way of complimenting that puts me to shame.”
“You consider that a compliment?”
“From you, aye.” He mounted his steed. “Tolerable is preferable to ‘murderous Scot’.”
“You must admit you did storm the castle.”
“Only because you denied me entrance.”
Claire huffed. They could go round and round in this vein forever. “Let’s be off.” She urged her horse ahead. She wearied of constantly butting heads with him, yet to keep up her guard against her growing attraction for him, she saw no other way.
They rode through the gate, and she led him into the woods. They made good progress until the large oak trees thickened, forcing them to wind through the close-knit trunks and overgrown hawthorn. The air cooled beneath the canopy of leaves shielding them from the afternoon sun.
“Tell me about Phillip. How did he come to follow you to Whitfield?” Claire had wondered at the man’s loyalty in the midst of all the turmoil since their arrival.
“We were both guards at Ramslea. Once we were sent to scout Ramslea’s land and look for poachers. As we neared the boundary marker, we came upon a group of armed ruffians. Five of them. When we ordered them off the land, they attacked. We fought well, but Phillip lost his footing and fell. I managed to kill his attacker before he was run through. He has been a loyal friend ever since.”
“But to follow you to a dilapidated castle?”
“I told him he wasna bound to me, but he insisted. I confess, I dinna know if I would have had the courage to take Whitfield without him.”
Claire laughed. “I’m surprised anyone would have the courage to claim such a ruined place.”
“When you live with no expectations, anything given takes on a value far beyond its apparent worth.” Ian cleared his throat. “How much further is the clearing?”
She shrugged. “Not much.”
“Good. I dinna know how sheep could be led through this brush.”
“Can you carry them?”
“Aye, which we will do as we gather them one at a time. But at some point, we shall have to move the entire flock out.”
“When the flock is large enough, we can clear a path for them out of the woods.”
The trees began to thin, allowing more sunlight to filter through the leaves. It wasn’t long before they rode out into a wide-open space about twice the size of Whitfield castle.
“’Tis definitely large enough to feed a modest flock. Where is the pool?”
“This way.” Claire led him northward across the clearing. A small body of water, about thirty paces wide, lay close to the northern tree line.
Ian dismounted and kneeled by the pool. “Spring fed?”
“Aye.”
Scooping a handful of water, he drank. “’Tis good.” He stood and walked toward her. “Do you not care for a drink?”
Claire quickly dismounted, not wanting his assistance. Not wanting the warmth of his hands to distract her. She sidestepped him and sank to her knees to drink. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he led his mount to the other side of the pool and let it drink.
Distance. ’Twas what she needed.
With a hand lifted over his eyes against the mid-afternoon sun, Ian viewed the clearing and then turned toward her. Claire dropped her gaze and came to her feet, ready to get back to the castle. Safe from the jangled nerves he wrought within her. She mounted her horse.
“I suspect you are ready to return?”
“Aye. I have shown you the way.”
Ian mounted his steed and joined her as she headed across the clearing. “Do you think Bardsley knows about this place?”
“Why would he, unless he has spied on us unawares?” Though the thought rankled, she wouldn’t put it past the man to spy upon her and the land. ’Twas unsettling.
“Would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, but he is a determined, overbearing sort, and he does want the pastureland.”
Ian grunted. “I suppose we can’t be sure what his reaction will be should he suspect we have taken his sheep.”
“It won’t be good, I promise you.” Claire shivered. “Perhaps he will back off his unyielding stance once we are truly married.” They entered the woods, and she led the way toward the castle.
“True, he wouldn’t want to go against the king and the goodwill gesture with Scotland. Perhaps we should make an effort to locate the priest. Surely someone has seen him in his travels among the villages.”
While Claire liked the idea of Bardsley stepping back once she and Ian were married, sh
e did not want to hasten the event. For then they would be man and wife in truth. He would move into her chamber, and they would share a bed.
She wasn’t ready for that joining.
Brush rustled up ahead, and she reined in her horse. Was it an animal?
Ian drew alongside her and pointed to the left. “Skirt around, giving whatever it is a wide berth,” he whispered.
She guided her mount away, but the rustling grew louder. Squeals suddenly split the air as a wild boar burst through the brush, startling Claire’s horse. The horse reared, and she grabbed the saddle pommel, trying to keep her seat. When it bucked, she lost her grip. She snatched at air as she fell to the ground. She scrambled to her feet but tripped on the hem of her gown, stumbling before she gained her footing.
Ian stood between her and the wild boar, sword drawn. “Claire, run!”
Claire stood paralyzed as she watched the boar charge at Ian. She had seen the damage boars inflicted upon their victims.
“Run!” Ian bellowed.
She couldn’t. Icy cold flooded her veins, freezing her in place. Her eyes fixed upon the beast as it closed in on Ian. Her mouth opened, but no sound came, her scream a silent one.
At the last possible moment, Ian jumped to the side, and thrust his sword through the boar’s shoulder. The beast’s piercing scream rent the air as it charged straight for Claire.
“Claire, run! Get out of the way!”
Still numb with fear, Claire watched the beast rush at her. Slowing down, it came within several feet, then fell to the ground. She stared at the massive animal until it moved no more.
Strong arms pulled her aside, enveloping her in a warm embrace. Her body began to tremble within the cocoon of his warmth. His hands caressed her back, thawing her with every stroke. Her hands clutched his tunic, trying to stay upright within his arms.
“There now,” he murmured. “’Tis over. You are safe.”
His words, mixed with the motion of his hands, removed her fear, replacing it with … with sensations she wasn’t accustomed to. The fluttering in her belly. The warmth seeping through her limbs. The need to flatten her hands over his hard chest.
Claire lifted her gaze to his eyes, the dark orbs radiating concern within. Her chest constricted, and her breath came in short rasps.
Ian brushed a curl from her face. “Are you alright, lass?”
Claire shivered at his whispered words. She nodded, unable to break away from the caring look in his eyes. His gaze fell to her mouth, and she swallowed. What would it feel like to be kissed by him? Her heart thundered within her chest.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she watched, mesmerized, as his lips parted and drew closer. Her lids grew heavy as he neared, his breath mingling with hers before his lips touched her own, soft and warm.
Claire breathed a sigh and closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him as his arms tightened, drawing her closer. His lips moved over hers, teasing, nibbling, feather-light. Heat coursed through her body.
With a groan, Ian deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers. Her hands crept around his neck on their own volition, threading into his hair. She pressed herself to him, the need for him intense.
Ian broke away and pressed his forehead to hers. “By the saints, unless you want me to take you right here, you will cease.”
Claire stood within the circle of his arms, feeling his heavy breath upon her face. Take her? Of course not! They weren’t married yet.
Pulling her hands from his hair, she pushed against his chest and stepped back. She hugged her arms to herself, bereft of the heat he had ignited.
Then his words registered in her addled brain. She was to cease? Claire blinked, heat suffusing her face with embarrassment—and anger. Of all the boorish things to say! “I am to cease? You blame me for your lack of control?”
“Aye, lass, that I do.” He ran a hand over his face. “You are a tempting beauty.”
Claire bit back the retort blazing upon her tongue. He thought her a beauty? Though she had spurned men who would try to steal a kiss or worse, she knew from the repeated insults of her guardian that she was no beauty. Nay, Ian’s words were but a ploy to gain her favor. “As a man—a knighted warrior, at that—you should be able to keep your temptations—and your lips—controlled and to yourself.”
Ian heaved a sigh. “You are right, lass. I shouldna take advantage of you in your time of need.”
Her cheeks heated. “Need?” How could he know she had needed him? His kiss? His embrace?
“You were frightened. In shock. I overstepped the bounds of propriety.”
Claire’s tense body eased. He referred to being frightened by the boar—not the need springing from being in his arms. “Well …” She didn’t know what to say. “I suppose a kiss with one’s betrothed is not necessarily improper.”
Ian stepped toward her and took her hand in his. “We would be considered properly wed if we bedded during the handfasting. ’Twould be as if a true wedding had taken place should we do so.”
The blood drained from Claire’s face. Nay, she could not.
Would not.
She withdrew her hand from his. “Nay! We shall wait for the priest.” ’Twould give her time to sort out her feelings. She was supposed to be guarding her heart, not laying it open before Ian. Claire turned away, searching for her horse. Had it run far? She had to get home. She spotted it on the far side of the field.
Ian whistled, and Claire jumped, her nerves frayed like the ends of an unknotted rope. His steed trotted toward them. After Ian fetched her horse, he secured the boar upon it.
“You will ride with me back to Whitfield.” Ian moved to place her upon his horse.
Claire bit her lip, not sure she was ready to be in close contact with him so soon after their … kiss. She nodded and was lifted upon his steed. Ian mounted behind her and reached around for the reins.
The heat of his body, his arms, seeped through her, but she resisted the urge to lean back within the warmth. Instead, she sat straight, leaving space between them as they rode through the overgrown woods.
The silence between them grew heavy like a descending cloud. He did not speak, which suited her perfectly. Was he thinking about their kiss? Did it affect him as it had her?
He’d probably experienced many kisses with numerous women. A man as handsome as Ian was sure to have a multitude of females throwing themselves at his feet. A kiss was most likely nothing more to him than taking a drink.
For her, however, it had been like viewing a flaming orange sunset for the first time. Beautiful and awe-inspiring. She’d been kissed before, but it had been against her wishes, and she’d managed to free herself with a well-placed kick. That kiss had been nothing like the kiss from her Scot.
Faith!
If her thoughts ran to claiming Ian as her own, she was doomed.
Chapter 18
Ian walked along the battlement, viewing the land surrounding the castle as well as the bailey within. How could he have been fortunate enough as to command such a place? Aye, the outside castle wall remained pitted and crumbly, but inside the bailey, things had changed for the better within the past week.
His new guards grew stronger with hours of training. When not training or guarding the castle, they worked to repair and expand the guardhouse for their new sleeping quarters. A blacksmith had been found, a middle-aged man with experience who was now tasked with refurbishing Whitfield’s old weapons and armor. Construction on the smithy had begun, boasting a new roof in progress.
Laughter drew his attention, and he glanced at the keep. Claire walked out of the kitchen door with Leticia. Claire’s hands waved about, animated in whatever tale she told. Ian quickened his pace to keep her in view as she made her way toward the garden.
Since their kiss in the woods, she had done everything in her power to avoid him.
He dinna like it.
When he had held her in his arms, she felt like home. The feel of her soft body against his height
ened his awareness of her as a woman. She had returned his kiss. No doubt about it. Her lips were unschooled yet full of eager passion. He barely managed to keep upright with the sweetness of her hands in his hair. His thoughtless tongue ruined the moment they had shared. How could he have been so inane as to tease about bedding her? He was an idiot. She had since been too busy to talk or even eat every meal with him. The few times she had dined with him, she answered his questions with one or two words and then devoured her food and left.
Her fiery temper was preferable to this silence—this ignoring of his attempts to woo her.
He’d invited her to ride out to see the progress on the tenant homes, but she had washing to do. He had asked her to inspect the eight sheep he and his men had taken and which now grazed deep in the woods. She replied that she must help with gathering herbs to dry.
She always had an excuse not to be near him. An excuse to avoid another kiss. But he was of a mind to snatch another taste of the red-headed lass. Ian slowed his pace as he neared where she knelt in the dirt, digging up some kind of root. Her dress clung to her back as she bent over, revealing the swell of her hips. By the saints, he must figure out a way to win his bride.
He drew close to the edge of the battlement and looked down into the garden where she worked. Strands of hair fell about her face, the unruly curls she so valiantly tried to keep tight.
“Claire,” he called.
She glanced around.
“Up here.”
Shielding her eyes with her hand against the morning sun, she looked upward. “Aye?”
“Do you need more helpers to get the work done? You have been working from morn until dusk each day.”
“As have you.”
“Is there no one to give you aid?” Surely not all the tenant women were tasked with chores.
“I enjoy being productive.” She returned her hands to the dirt.
Ian watched her work, not knowing how to respond. She obviously didn’t care to converse, and he didn’t have anything intelligent to utter. ’Twas frustrating.
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 15