A burst of light exploded behind her eyes and then she knew nothing.
Isabella groaned against the ache in her head. She looked up blearily; there was something over her, and not much light. She moved her hand and discovered the cover on her to be cloth.
Quilts. She struggled under their weight, not knowing where she was or how she had gotten there.
“Steady on, lass. Dinna hurt yerself.”
“Colyne?” she asked, disoriented, trying to make out his features in the dim light.
“Aye.” The bed dipped as he sat beside her.
Isabella licked her lips. She was parched and movement made pain radiate across her eyes.
“Where—where—?”
“Ye’re safe now but ye’ve given me the fright of me life. ’Twas a wonder I found ye at all.”
“Found me?” Was I lost?
“Aye.” He gently brushed the strands of hair away from her eyes. “Yer horse come walking back to the castle and nae sign of ye or yer worthless guard—may Cailleach freeze his bullocks off! ’Twas enough to take ten year off me life.”
“My horse?” The snow, Cobweb stumbling. “I think I fell.”
“Fell, an’ were nigh buried in snow when I found ye. ’Tis a good thing yer cloak is red, lass.”
“My hands, my feet, they hurt.”
“I’d wager they do,” he replied. “Hold! Dinna move them yet, let me see.”
Her hands burned and stung as if they had been put on the fire. He touched her gently, examining each digit in turn.
“Ye were near frozen, but I dinna think ye’ll lose fingers or toes.”
Isabella shuddered at the idea.
“Where are we?” This did not look like any part of the castle she knew.
“A cottage, nae far from where I found ye.”
“We are in the village?”
“Nae the village. A cottage in the west, nearer to the mountains.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “I must thank them.”
“Thank who?” he asked, puzzled.
“The people who live here.”
He gave a short laugh. “There’s nae people who live here. Just ourselves.”
“Just ourselves?”
“Aye, ye dinna remember, do ye? When I said we would ride out, just the pair of us? ’Twas here I meant.”
“I do remember,” she whispered. That night seemed so long ago. A lump formed in her throat as she thought of it. “Is there anything to drink?”
“Ye canna rest more? ’Tis full dark now and ’twould be best for ye.”
“I am so thirsty,” she murmured, stirring.
“All right, wait now,” he warned. “Let me help ye.”
The bed was odd, like a large box into which a bed had been placed. The door was open but she imagined it could be shut for warmth—or privacy.
He leaned down and slid his arm under her shoulders to ease her into a sitting position. The room swam a bit at first and her head did pound; she could make out the some of the cottage now by the light of the fire in the center of the little space.
The stone walls rose waist high; the rest of the walls were covered with sod and mud. Beams supported the thatched roof.
It looked very like the cottage they had gone to together so many weeks—was it months?—ago. Only there was no family here, no baby squealing with fear at Colyne’s bushy face.
It was quiet. Very quiet.
He offered her a wooden cup, and she sipped. It was cold, like the rest of the room; she was parched and drank the ale down before handing the cup back.
He offered a bit of resistance when she shifted to get her feet under her to stand but, perhaps fearing a struggle would harm her, let her have her way. It was then she realized she was wrapped only in a blanket. Automatically she pulled at the quilt to cover herself, looking around for her chemise, dress, and cloak.
“Ye were soaked to the skin.” He nodded toward the fire and she could see her things hung up to dry there.
Awkwardly, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she stood. The floor was plain dirt with a few braided rugs scattered about.
“Thank you for finding me, my lord. Methinks it best we return to the castle now.”
“We canna go tonight! It’s black as pitch and the snow still fallin’.”
“We cannot stay here!”
“Why?”
“We are alone!”
A grin spread across his face. “That we are.”
She turned her head to deliver sharp words but the room spun and she nearly lost her balance.
He was there in an instant.
“Mayhap we need wait a bit before ye move around too much,” he allowed, easing her into the low chair. “Sit, lass.”
Sitting was better, she agreed silently.
“Will ye be sick?”
“I certainly hope not. I do not think my head will tolerate it and I have nothing in my stomach in any case.”
“Are ye hungry then?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “If my head will stop spinning, I would risk it. I have not eaten since this morning.”
“Aye, I saw ye weren’t at dinner. There’s a good bit here and it should last us a while. I keep food here for when I come.”
“You come here?”
“Now and then.”
If Alisoun was not his mistress, was there another woman who he took here?
“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Why do you come here?”
“A place to think and be unwatched. There’s nae privacy in a castle, nae even for the laird.”
“I thought—” she broke off.
He tilted his head to look at her. “Ye thought?”
“Nothing. What is there to eat?”
He laughed. “Well, nae bean cake! I have only pottage to offer ye but I’ll try to serve ye just as well.”
She flinched at the reference to the Feast of Fools. He scooped some pottage out of the pot hanging over the fire into a wooden bowl and handed it to her.
“Mind ye, ’tis just come off the fire.”
The bowl was pleasantly warm in her hands.
“I dinna see much of ye for Christmastide. Did ye like the Highland way of observin’ the twelve days?”
“You did not see me?” Isabella repeated, unbelieving. “You commanded my participation in every feast and dance and custom!”
He gave a short laugh. “O’course I did! And ye made a verra fine Abbott.”
“Thank you,” she replied shortly. She scooped out some of the pottage onto the spoon and blew to cool it.
There was silence for a bit as she tasted her food. Not her favorite, but hearty enough and blissfully hot.
“I canna think our merry makin’ can compare to the Christmas courts of the English king.”
Why was he doing this? Hovering over her so?
“’Tis all for the king’s sake,” she said. “The nobles give the king the most elaborate and expensive New Year presents and amusements they can afford, and often more than they can afford, in order to gain his favor.”
“I have a New Year’s gift for ye,” he said almost shyly. “I shall to give it to ye on Handsel.”
“Handsel?” she asked, frowning.
“I expect the English dinna have that. ’Tis when we give our New Year’s gifts.”
Isabella returned to her pottage. “I do not require any present, my lord. Nor do I want one.”
“Do ye nae call me ‘Colyne’ now? As I recall, ye could have anythin’ ye wished for the takin’ by doin’ so.”
Her grip on the spoon tightened. “I do not think I should ever do so again, my lord.”
“Ach, well, I expect ye could get anythin’ out of me in any case.”
He pulled another chair to sit before her. It was low to the ground and his knees stuck up when he sat. His hair, beard, even the red hairs on his arms and hands caught the firelight. He leaned forward, his arms on his thighs, looking at her.
His examination was unnervin
g.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Lookin’ at ye.”
“I can see that,” she replied tersely. “Stop it.”
“I canna. I’ve nae been sae close to ye in weeks.”
She looked at the floor, the mud walls, the fire in turn, then finally back at him.
“Is there nothing else you could be doing?”
“Nae, and nothin’ else I want to.”
“Perhaps,” she said sharply, “you might occupy yourself with finding a way to return us to the castle. Would you not rather be there?”
“Nae really. I miss this old pile o’ stones.”
Isabella blinked. “Did you live here?”
“Aye, for a time.” He indicated the simple cottage. “Are ye shocked then? To find me at home in such humbleness?”
She frowned. “Did your family take the castle recently, then?”
“Nae,” he said quietly. “We came here for a bit after the king’s men came through.”
“The king’s men came here? When?”
“Years ago.” Colyne plucked a stick from the floor. “After Inverness.”
“Inverness?”
“Aye.” He twisted the stick idly, his face taut. “The king summoned the chieftains to Inverness when he returned. Ach, must nine years, nae, nearly ten now.” He held the stick in both hands, rolling it between his fingers. “Summoned they were, and wantin’ peace with the king, they went, my father and Malcolm with them.”
Isabella felt her stomach tighten at his tone. “What happened?”
Colyne glanced at the fire. “’Twas late summer when they went and near winter before I heard that the king had them all thrown in the dungeon.”
Isabella’s eyes widened. “All? How many?”
“The lot,” he replied. “More’n fifty men. Some, like Malcolm, came home. Some he kept for years. Different castles, different houses.”
She could hear the words that were unsaid. “Your father?”
“He was nae sae fortunate.” Colyne tossed a stick into the fire. “Four of the chieftains James put to death right away to keep them from followin’ Alexander, Lord of the Isles. The king hanged my father months before I knew anythin’ of it.”
Isabella swallowed. Upon his return to Scotland James seized his relatives, the Albany Stewarts, and nearly wiped them out. Many nobles had been arrested then—even her future husband’s father—but she had not known the king turned his bloodlust to the Highlander families too.
“You said—the king’s men …”
“Oh, aye, but that was later. For years the clans had come nigh to open rebellion. The king came into the Highlands to subdue us all, and one time he came here. That’s how I found it all when I come back from Orléans.” He tilted his head. “Did Caitrina nae tell ye? ’Twas how her leg was crushed, durin’ that siege when they burned the castle. Mother died then too, and little Margaret with her.”
“No,” she said thickly. “She never told me. Oh, Colyne, I did not know.”
“See, sweet,” he said softly. “I dinna have to wait verra long to hear ye say my name.”
She ducked her head at the warm timbre of his voice. They were miles from the castle, and the snow very deep by now…
“’Tis why Caitrina sae fears the king, and angerin’ him. She fears nothin’ sae much as him. I dinna think she will ever sleep easy as long as he sits on the throne.”
“I am surprised that she could be so kind to me, knowing I am his cousin.”
“She is a generous soul. An’ she has her Ihone now, sae she has much to thank ye for.”
Isabella looked away. Colyne too could thank her for bringing Bredach to him.
“Ye should eat. Ye have need of it.”
The bowl was still warm. She managed a few more mouthfuls but him watching her eat made the pottage stick in her throat. She gave back the bowl.
“Ye should rest yerself again.” He turned away, scooping pottage into the bowl for himself. “’Tis hours till morning.”
Isabella climbed back into the cold bed, shivering against the chill of the simple linen mattress. She tucked the blankets around her and turned her back to the room, ducking her face under the covers.
She burrowed her deeper in the scant warmth of the blankets. Should she tell him, she wondered, fingering the linen of the bedsheet. Would he be angry? He would surely send her flying to court so that Alexander Douglas might think the child his.
He would send her away without delay.
She closed her eyes. Was that not what she wanted?
The fire crackled. His chair creaked, something scraped at the side table as he moved quietly around the cottage.
“Shift yerself over a bit on the bed, lass.”
Her eyes flew open. “Why?”
“So I can meself get into it. I dinna want to climb over ye.”
She turned to face him, half sitting up and clutching the blankets to her. “You are not sleeping here, MacKimzie.”
“Aye, I am.”
“You may not sleep in this bed!”
“And where would ye have me sleep? In the lean-to with the horse?”
Her gaze narrowed. “I do not care where you sleep, but you will not share my bed.”
“Lass,” he began, wiping his hands over his eyes, “it is verra late, and verra cold. If ye canna think of me comfort, then think of yer own. Two in the bed will be twice the warmth.”
“You are not sharing my bed!”
“Isabella, I will be sharin’ the bed with ye, if ye like it or no, for yer own sake. If ye dinna want me tonight, I will leave ye be but I’ll nae have ye catchin’ yer death out of stubbornness.”
She glared at him.
He met her eye, unyielding.
“Fine!” she spat. “Have your own way, MacKimzie. You always do.”
With that, she moved over in the bed, leaving enough room for him to climb in.
He sighed. “Ach, but I wish that ’twere so.”
She lay with her back toward him, her mouth tight.
Why should he sleep here? He is just doing this to see me undone!
The sound of rustling cloth made her turn. He had discarded his mantle and trews and was about to pull his tunic over his head.
“What are you doing?”
He stopped, still holding the edge of his tunic to pull it over his head. “I’m gettin’ in bed!”
“And you mean to disrobe?”
“What, do ye want me to sleep in me clothes?”
“At least wear the tunic!”
“Why?” he demanded. “Ye have me word I’ll nae try to take ye! What do ye want of me?”
“I want you to wear your tunic!”
“Isabella, if ye dinna want to see, turn yer eyes away, but I’ll nae stand here with my arse out to the cold any longer!”
With that he pulled the tunic over his head.
He was bare and even in this light she could make out every plane and curve.
Her heart was beating wildly and she quickly turned toward the wall.
She felt his weight on the bed and he settled under the blankets beside her. His side was flush against her back and she could feel the heat of his body against her skin.
He sighed. “Ah,” he said. “It feels good to rest a bit.”
The feel of his skin against hers made her breath quicken.
“Isabella?”
“Yes?” she managed.
“If ye have need o’ anything, tell me, aye?”
“I can assure you, MacKimzie, I will not have need of anything you can provide.”
He sighed again and she felt his body shift. “Tell me if ye do, sweet.”
Isabella held the blanket to her tightly. He was going to be very disappointed if he thought bedding her would be as easy as this. The arrogance of it! To think all he need do was lie beside her and she would have him. If he thought he had the rough side of her tongue before, let him put one hand on her now!
Her heart hamme
red as the minutes passed.
He was so warm, and the bed doubly warm with him in it.
They were alone now as they had never been before. The snow meant none should come upon them. He would not have to steal away this time. Her maid would not be coming to catch them. A touch on her shoulder, a kiss against her neck…surely he would do something.
This time they would have the whole night.
Isabella shifted slightly and moved a tiny bit closer to him…
His hip was against her buttocks, muscle of his leg against hers.
Colyne stirred and softly—
Snored.
She turned around to stare at him. His eyes were closed, his face slack and mouth slightly parted.
Asleep? He is asleep?
She flopped onto her back. They were alone, in bed, skin-to-skin bare and he did not even try.
Of course he did not.
He was wed to Bredach now. Why should he want her when his beautiful new wife awaited his return to their bed?
She watched Colyne for a long while, his breathing deep and even as he slumbered beside her. Gently she smoothed back the russet lock that had fallen over his cheek.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slid her arm over his chest, moving so that she was curled against him.
Isabella nestled against Colyne, her cheek against his chest. She watched the shadows dancing on the ceiling of the box bed and listened to his heartbeat until exhaustion took her.
Isabella was wrapped in dark, enveloping warmth. Half asleep, cradled so lovingly, she felt lips brush lightly against her temple.
Tender arms tightened around her and she snuggled closer. His fingers lightly traced the curve of her cheek. She turned her face toward him, the warm clean scent of him in her nostrils. His mouth touched hers, and her body’s reaction to the moist heat was immediate. Isabella’s breath caught as he deepened the kiss, gently parting her lips with his tongue.
Colyne tugged impatiently at the blanket. Her heart hammering, she shifted to allow him to pull it free. In the next instant she was bare against him and she shivered as he pressed her fully against him.
His body seemed impossibly warm as his mouth found hers again. Her hand ran over the warm sinewy skin of his shoulder and down the curve of his back, her hand resting at his hip for a moment. A thrill ran through her at the soft sound he made when she let her fingers trace lower, over the muscle of his thigh and up, her fingers curving around him.
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