Ian’s hooded gaze fell to her mouth, and seeing the heat in his eyes, her breath caught. She felt the same pull, that slow-moving warmth like heated honey flowing through her veins. Deliciously sweet and so tempting.
Taking a step closer, Ian slid a hand around her waist. With his other, he touched the curl that had once again slipped across her face. Claire’s heart fluttered as his mouth lowered. The scent of leather and rosemary wafted around her as he drew close. Her eyes closed as his breath warmed her lips.
The kitchen door burst open. “I have a mind to—”
Ian stepped back, and Claire stumbled, her knees not cooperating. Ian grabbed her by the arms, steadying her.
“Oh, ’tis sorry I am. I’ll just …” Alma turned back toward the kitchen.
“Nay, we are finished talking. I’m coming to help with supper.” Claire pulled away from Ian. She refused to look at him, knowing her cheeks flamed—knowing he knew how much she wanted his kiss. She skirted around Alma, leaving Ian behind. Claire only hoped he stayed away while she cooled her cheeks and her thoughts. She glanced at the door, but Ian did not follow. Alma came in, shut the door, and cocked her head. “Is all good with the Scot?”
“You shouldn’t be asking such things.”
Alma swallowed. “You are right, my lady. My apologies.” She curtsied.
Remorse filled Claire. She went to Alma, taking her in her arms. “I am sorry. You can ask me anything. You—all of you—are like family to me.” Claire looked to Edith and Leticia who cut vegetables at the center table.
“Then tell us what has happened.” Edith smiled.
“He … he muddles my mind.” Claire picked up a knife and began chopping turnips.
“You are beginning to care for him, then?” Leticia wiggled her eyebrows.
Claire laughed. “He’s a Scot!”
“A good-looking Scot,” said Leticia.
Claire didn’t deny it. But his lineage—he came from a people who were murderous brutes. She would dishonor her parents’ death if she succumbed to Ian’s charm. And it seemed he had charm aplenty these days.
Claire shook her head. “I have no time to think about him. There is so much work to do, especially with extra mouths to feed.”
Just thinking about Ian’s brother set her teeth on edge. What manner of man hid behind those good looks and handsome smile? What was in store for Ian while dealing with the tormentor of his past?
As for herself, Claire determined to stay clear of both Niall and Ian. She’d organize the women’s work and stay busy running the keep. How she was to evade Ian and his brother, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps she could enact the wiles of the hunted fox, evading capture with sly cunning.
Claire snorted. She would avoid the Scots with a wee bit of help from her friends.
Ian rubbed his hands over his stubbled face as he watched Claire enter the kitchen. By the saints, Claire was a sweet temptation. Especially when he could read the want in her eyes, her face, her lips. He dinna even get a taste of those rosy lips. If it weren’t for the presence of his family, Ian would jump on his horse and search for the priest himself.
He paused at the door to the great hall and drew in a deep breath. Facing Niall and Fiona was the last thing he desired, but he wouldn’t shirk his duty.
He wouldn’t look bad in front of his brother.
Ian pushed through the door and went to his brother and sister. “I apologize for my tardiness.”
“Is everything alright? We have not overstepped our welcome, have we?” Fiona rose.
“Nay, just details that needed seeing to.”
“Brother, I’d like to view Whitfield and all it has to offer.” Niall downed the last of his drink and stood.
Ian clenched his jaw. What could it matter what Whitfield offered? The land would never be Niall’s. “I shall show you around the keep.”
Ian led Niall and Fiona through the structure, showing them the kitchen, the storeroom, the main chamber, and solar, plus the few extra rooms upstairs. While Fiona exclaimed over the coziness of the keep, his brother would nod and ask the occasional question about plans for expanding.
“I have no plans to expand at this point. My goal is to house the workers in better living conditions and repair the outer wall.” Ian refused to tell Niall of his desire to create an outer bailey and erect another outer wall. What was the point, other than to make him regret he’d given up Whitfield? Ian had no intention of tempting his brother.
“’Tis a shame, for it seems Whitfield could be built into something greater—something worthwhile.” Niall stepped down the stairwell and back into the great hall. Ian and Fiona followed.
“Why did you pass on the inheritance?” The words were out of Ian’s mouth before he could gather them back.
Niall turned to him and narrowed his eyes. “I was made to believe the place was in complete ruins and the English woman an ugly shrew.
More than ever, Ian wished Claire still acted in a shrew-like manner. Perhaps if she had shown her temper, his brother would not seem so interested in Whitfield. “Let me show you the bailey.” The buildings within the outer walls were in disrepair and should deter any interest Niall might have.
“Ian, if you don’t mind, I shall stay in the hall. I’m a wee bit tired from the journey,” said Fiona.
Ian noted the dark circles beneath Fiona’s weary eyes. “Of course, sit by the fire. I shall send a servant to attend you.”
Ian led his brother out to the bailey and showed him the smithy where the new blacksmith, Barth, beat a sword, showering red sparks upon the dirt.
“It boasts a new roof.” Niall took in the piles of armor scattered about. “I see many tools and weapons in need of repair.”
“Aye, the armory held only a few usable items.”
They walked to the stables, and Ian tried to paint a bleak picture. “There are only eight stalls, so the rest of the horses stay within the paddock. You can see that it desperately needs a new fence.”
“Have you thought about moving the stables outside the castle walls? There would be more room to build a bigger stable.”
Ian wasn’t about to share his grand plans for an outer bailey. “Perhaps one day, if Whitfield ever turns a profit.”
“There’s no profit now? What about crops? You mentioned tenants earlier.” Niall’s sharp gaze made Ian want to squirm.
Remember, make Whitfield undesirable. “Nay, no income. I only recently acquired a few tenants, so nothing is planted yet.”
Niall dinna reply. They continued around the bailey as the clash of steel sounded on the other side of the outer wall.
“Are the lists outside the castle?”
“The bailey doesn’t support the amount of room needed, so the men practice outside the walls.”
Niall shook his head, disdain evident on his face. “How many guards are there?”
“Enough for now.” Ian would let Niall guess at the total number.
“I would see the state of your men.”
Ian clenched his hands but kept walking. “Perhaps tomorrow. I have things to attend to once I show you the rest of the grounds.” He wanted to be done with this tour and with Niall.
Though he tried not to rush, Ian showed his brother the guardhouse that was under repair, as well as the garden behind the keep. They headed back to the great hall where some tenant women prepared tables for the evening meal. Fiona rested in a chair near the fireplace, her eyes closed. He should have insisted she retire in the solar.
Ian turned to Niall. “I will have a servant show you and Fiona where you will bed down for the night. You can nap or remain in the hall if you prefer.”
“Are you trying to pawn me off, brother?” Niall smirked.
“Nay, I have things to do.”
“I would like to witness your dealings at Whitfield. I confess to being surprised that you’ve been able to accomplish all that you have thus far.”
“You never thought much of me.”
Niall sneered. �
�There wasn’t much to think of.”
Ian was torn. While he dinna want to present Whitfield in a good light, he didn’t want Niall to consider him too weak to manage or defend the land. His pride won out. “You can think what you want, but I am capable of running Whitfield. It is mine to command, passed over by our sire, Brian, you, and Gordon.
“Yet, you are not married.”
“Handfasted.”
“But not bedded.”
Ian wanted to run his fist into his brother’s face and make him howl with pain. He heard the threat in Niall’s words, and he wouldn’t stand for it. Tomorrow he would escort Niall and his men out Whitfield’s gates. “That will be remedied soon enough.”
As soon as the priest arrived. If he had to send all his men in search of the holy man, Ian just might do so.
Edith helped the women set the tables for supper, and Ian motioned her over. “Would you see my brother and sister to the empty chambers?”
Edith nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
Ian left the hall and joined the men training in the heat of the late afternoon sun. By the saints, dealing with his brother frustrated him. He unsheathed his sword and sliced his blade through the air. He was ready expend some of his anger through swordplay.
He pitied the man who would be his partner.
Chapter 20
After exhausting his guards in swordplay, pounding his vexation upon each until they cried cease, Ian bathed and dressed for the evening meal. He walked down the corridor and paused at Claire’s door. Had she already descended to the hall? He rapped on her door.
“Enter.”
Ian stepped inside the chamber. Clothed in a light purple overskirt, she wore her hair unbound and her fiery curls billowed about her shoulders. She fair stole the breath from his lungs. “You are lovely.”
Her lips curved upward. “Thank you.”
“Too lovely.”
Claire’s smile faded and she frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think presenting yourself in such a manner … er, looking as lovely as you do will produce unwanted consequences.”
She shook her head, confused. “Your words make no sense.”
“If you present yourself in a good light, lovely and agreeable, it could tempt Niall into … into—”
“Into making advances toward me? Into taking me against my will?” Claire’s voice rose. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“I dinna think he’d force himself upon you, but it might persuade him to rethink his refusal of the inheritance.”
“But he cannot do that. We are handfasted.”
“But not wed.” He shrugged. “And not bedded.”
Claire threw her hands in the air. “I am not bedding you before we are married!”
“Aye, I ken, lass.” Ian stepped toward her. “Perhaps if you didn’t look so appealing ...”
She blinked. “You think me appealing?”
Ian groaned. “Aye, lass, I do indeed.”
Claire put a hand to her chest. “Um …” She cleared her throat. “What do you propose? Dress in rags?”
“Not in rags, but a gown less colorful. And less . . . less revealing of your—uh—exquisite form.” Ian waved toward her head. “And do something with your hair.”
She put a hand to her tresses. “What’s wrong with it?”
Ian took another step closer and reached for a curl, twisting it around his finger. “Absolutely nothing, and that’s the problem. I love your tresses, but ’tis a temptation difficult to resist.”
Claire swallowed.
Ian succumbed to the draw of her full lips. He slid his hand deeper into her lush curls, his fingers curving around her slender neck, drawing her closer.
Claire’s eyes widened, and she pushed against his chest. “Nay! I will not bed you.”
Her words jolted him to the present like a slap to the face, and he dropped his hand. “I am not asking you to bed me. I only thought to—”
“Kiss me senseless until I give in to you.” She stepped away and put her hands on her full hips.
“Would you give in if I did such a thing?” Not that he would try to bed her, but did his kiss stir her so?
“Nay! I would do no such thing!” Her flushed cheeks spoke otherwise.
Taking pity on her, he returned to his original plan. “Very well. But I do not need anything to tempt Niall to claim my inheritance, so ugly yourself up a wee bit, if such a thing is possible. Perhaps he willna care as much.”
“And if I refuse to do as you ask?”
Ian paused, then gave a shrug. “Then I shall deal with whatever befalls us.” He left the room and shut the door. Would she heed his warning?
Claire was stubborn enough to defy his wishes, but perhaps her love for Whitfield would make her acquiesce and present herself in a less than appealing light. Ian leaned against the wall across from her chamber, waiting to see what path she chose.
A thought came to him, seeding doubt into his heart. What if she saw Niall as a better choice? He was more handsome, was better dressed, and had strong guards. He looked the part of a grand lord. The seed of uncertainty sprouted, filling his soul with dread. Why could he not shake off the cloak of insignificance he wore in his brother’s presence? The comparison between them, the lack of worthiness—it clung to him, stifling, suffocating.
The wood door before him swung open, and Ian straightened to attention. Claire walked into the hall wearing a gray work dress. Her hair was pulled tight away from her face, plaited, and wound at the back of her head. Worn boots peeked from the bottom of her skirt. She looked like a poor serf, ready for a day’s work. His heart eased, giving him confidence to face what waited below.
She had chosen him over Niall.
Claire lifted her chin, challenge in her stance.
“Perfect,” he said. “I thank you.” Though he considered her lovely as she was, he knew Niall’s taste in women ran toward the more delicately adorned woman—like a butterfly, colorful in appearance, dainty in actions.
Claire snorted.
“Aye, that’s good too. Your behavior matters as well.”
“You want me to snort all night?” she asked, her hands smoothing down her dowdy dress.
“I want you to be unpleasant.”
“’Twill be difficult,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Ian choked on a laugh. “Indeed, for your sensibilities run on the pleasant side, to be sure.”
“I do try, you know. To be nice, that is.”
“I ken, lass,” he said. “I can tell of late.”
A hint of a smile graced Claire’s face, and she held out her hand. “Shall we partake of supper, my lord?”
Ian took her hand and placed it upon his arm, squeezing her fingers. They went downstairs to the great hall and made their way to dais. Men, women, and children filled the tables, awaiting the meal. Ian gazed around the hall, marking Niall and Fiona standing near the fireplace, waiting to be seated. At least, Niall hadn’t usurped Ian’s place at the high table.
After seating Claire to his right, he invited Fiona to take the chair next to Claire and then motioned for Niall to sit beside him on his left.
“I trust you rested well, Niall?” Ian hated polite conversation, but he would play his part and be hospitable.
“For a bit. Then I walked the battlements and got a good view of you making sport of your guards.”
Ian tensed. His brother had spied on him. “The men need some training, but they are coming along.”
Niall chuckled. “You are mistaken. Those guards are far from ready.”
Ian reached for his cup of ale and took a long drink, refusing to respond to the insult. Instead, he turned to Claire. “What did you manage to accomplish today, my lady?”
Claire shot him a glare. “More than you, to be sure.”
Fiona gasped, and Niall burst into laughter. Heat rushed up Ian’s neck, pleased by his betrothed’s rudeness.
A tiny smile flitted across Claire’s stony count
enance. By the saints, she was playing her part well.
“Well done, then, for I accomplished much,” he said. “Fiona, were you able to rest?”
“Aye, I had a most delightful nap. I—”
“Brother, your lady has a sharp tongue.” Niall grabbed a piece of venison from his trencher and took a bite.
“Aye, and sharpened on a daily basis, I assure you.”
“Challenging, but I wager there is enough sport in dulling that tongue to make it worth your while.”
Claire shot up straight in her chair. Ian resisted the urge to cover her hand with his to calm her down. Let her be the shrew as planned. Yet Niall’s reply gave Ian pause. He wasna sure encouraging her feisty nature would provide the deterrent he’d hoped.
“Please excuse Niall,” said Fiona as she gave Claire an apologetic smile. “He lacks propriety when fine manners are required.”
“He had better learn quickly, or his stay will be shortened considerably.” Claire sniffed and continued with her meal.
Ian bit back a laugh and set his sights on his own trencher. The great hall was alive with jovial conversation and laughter. Why couldn’t he find that kind of camaraderie with his own family? With Claire?
After everyone finished their meal, the male workers and guards pushed the tables and benches to the walls.
“There is dancing this eve?” Ian asked Claire.
“Aye, in honor of your family’s visit.”
He wished he had known so as to put a stop to the festivities. Dancing and playing host would drag the evening longer than he’d hoped. Ian braced himself for more of Niall’s presence.
Toly pulled out his lyre and strummed a lively tune. Men and women formed circles and moved to the music, thoroughly enjoying themselves. Phillip claimed one of the tenant’s older daughters to dance, a pretty lass with golden hair. Children danced and played in the corner, their own laughter and squeals adding to the happy atmosphere. Would that his own heart could enjoy such freedom.
Niall pushed back his chair and walked behind Ian to stand near Claire. He held out a hand. “I would dance with my future sister.”
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 17