Yet while Isolde’s absence tugged at an unfamiliar part of his soul, his greater concern lay with Thomas. He’d been hard on his son. Much harder than he cared to be. Thomas was only eight, and Angus could remember a time when all that mattered was the size of the frogs and the length of the snakes he found in the fields behind his North Yorkshire childhood home.
Damn, but it would be enjoyable to catch a tadpole or two with Thomas. If only he could trust that nothing would happen, that if something did occur, he could keep Thomas from permanent harm.
Sighing, he rose to his feet and headed for the door. He’d make up for this morning and all the times he’d denied Thomas the simple pleasures of boyhood, with a trip into Sheffield and a visit to the handcrafted toy store. For months now, Thomas had his eye on a remote control plane. Maybe this evening they could give the World War II RAF replica a whirl if the winds stayed calm.
Angus smiled as he pushed open the office door and entered the hall. Indeed, it would be nice to spend an hour or two playing. Perhaps even Isolde would join in.
As he approached the tourists who were enraptured by the long wall of medieval weaponry that had once belonged to the original Lord of Hatherly’s army, he beckoned to Nadine with an inclination of his head. She stepped away from the crowd to join him in the stone archway.
“Have you seen Thomas, Nadine?”
“No, sir. I haven’t seen him all ’morn. Not since just before breakfast.”
Strange. Thomas’s favorite place to play indoors was with the replica Dark Ages chess set in the museum, where Nadine spent all her on-duty time when she wasn’t handling the tourists. Isolde had instilled a passion in him for the game—they’d spent countless hours challenging one another. To the point that Angus would no longer play because he found himself in checkmate within three moves.
“Have you seen Isolde?”
A wry smile danced on Nadine’s mouth as she shook her head. “I would think if anyone knew her whereabouts, it would be you.”
Angus cocked an eyebrow. “And what do you mean by that, Nadine?” Not that he really needed an explanation. Still it galled him that his staff knew more about his personal life than he cared to share.
“Nothing, sir.” Her smile quirked with silent mischief. “Don’t you find it odd she came back after the sudden way she left? One might think she had a personal interest in Hatherly.”
Personal interest—Angus’s frown deepened. “That’s quite enough speculation, Nadine. Could you suggest where I might look for Thomas?”
“I haven’t a clue. I suspect where you find one, you’ll find the other. She has quite a motherly affinity toward him, and he flocks to her much the same.”
Angus grumbled to himself. He really needed to do something about this growing speculation on the part of his staff. True enough their assumptions were correct. But the veiled suggestions, the spot-on insinuations made him uncomfortable, damn it.
“Very well. I’ll let you return to your tour.”
With a courteous nod, Nadine rejoined her small group, and Angus continued down the long hall toward the kitchen. It was going on lunch time. Thomas should be raiding the refrigerator by now.
The kitchens, however, confounded him more. Not only was Thomas absent, but the entire staff was also missing. Not that he particularly cared, but it was unlike his personal chef to let everyone take lunch at the same hour. Ramon almost always had someone slaving away over a cutting board.
He ventured outside to reassure himself that Thomas had abided by his edict and not wandered to the river. Only when he looked toward the shallow bank, he froze mid-stride. His son hadn’t listened. He stood at the water’s edge, balancing precariously on a large smooth stone as he stared into the gentle current. Behind him, Isolde knelt on the grass, the tips of her long hair floating in the water as she bent over what could only be Thomas’s precious tadpoles.
Anger rose, simmering behind Angus’s clenched jaw. But before he could storm across the grass and give the pair a firm lecture, Thomas took a step onto the shore. His foot skidded on the slippery moss, making him stumble. Angus’s lungs clamped down like an iron vise. He stood rooted in place, paralyzed by the horrific vision of Thomas slipping and hitting his head while Isolde’s back was turned.
When Thomas set his foot on the grass bank, Angus breathed easier. The annoyance, however, refused to flee. He stalked off at a brisk pace, closing the gap between him, his son, and the deadly clutches of the River Dewent.
Isolde moved behind a dead tree stump, and Thomas took up the spot she occupied. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he bent precariously close to the water…staring at the very same place his mother had drowned.
The sight was more than Angus could bear. At a dead run, he sprinted across the grass to his son’s side. There, he grabbed Thomas beneath the armpit and hauled him to his feet. All the pent up fear bottlenecked inside Angus exploded in a rush of fury. “Damn it, Thomas! How many times must I say it? Do you know where you’re standing? That this is where—”
Isolde’s heel ground into Angus’s toe. He choked down a pained cry, and what he’d nearly said slammed into him. For God’s sake, he’d nearly forced that horrid memory on his son. Slowly, he released Thomas’s arm. “I told you to stay away from the river.”
“Father, I was with Isolde.”
“Angus—”
He ignored them both as anger warmed his neck. Thrusting a hand toward Hatherly’s heavy back door, he barked, “Go inside. Now. Go to your room and stay there until I come to fetch you.”
“I hate you!” Thomas cried as he ran three stumble-steps away. He paused to look back at Angus and yelled more loudly, “I never want to see you again!”
The force of that pained childish outburst nearly knocked Angus onto his knees. His mouth snapped shut, and all his irrational rage drained out through the soles of his leather shoes. In all the times they’d argued, Thomas had never said something so damning. Had never looked at him with such anguish behind his eyes. He’d brought this to his son, exposed him to emotion a child didn’t need to experience at this early age. Boyhood was supposed to be a time of fun and memories. Something to look back on wistfully. Not a time to remember fighting.
But God help him, he didn’t know how to stop lashing out when Thomas’s natural curiosities aroused the paralyzing fear.
At a loss, he turned, only to confront the piercing light of Isolde’s furious stare.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Angus Shaw.”
Oh, he was. More than he could ever confess with words. Thomas was only eight, and Angus was driving his son away faster than he could blink. All because of what? A few harmless tadpoles?
“Do you really think I would let something happen to Thomas? Do you believe for one minute that I would be so absorbed in frogs and minnows that I wouldn’t hear him fall in?” Her chest heaved as she unleashed on him. Her scathing glare wielded daggers meant to draw blood. “I was three feet away!”
“I was thirty.” The quiet confession popped out, defying Angus’s control.
Isolde blinked. As if she sought to clear her ears, she shook her head. “What?”
Memories he’d buried rose to the surface, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the day he couldn’t forget. When he opened them again, his gaze fell on a cherry tree in full bloom that peeked around the side of Hatherly’s west wall. He lifted his hand and pointed. “Thomas loved cherries,” he answered in a quiet voice that sounded foreign to his own ears. “We’d brought him out here to see the minnows. I took him over to the tree while Camille soaked her toes. We were over there, Thomas sitting beneath the branches, while I cut seeds out with my pocketknife.”
His vision clouded with tears he hadn’t shed since the day they put Camille to rest. Swallowing down the lump of pain, he blinked away the unwelcome wetness and lowered his gaze to Isolde. “I didn’t hear her. I couldn’t…” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. With a shaky breath he found strength to fi
nish. “I couldn’t keep her safe.”
“Oh, Angus.” Isolde’s shock whispered over the bubbling current. “I’m so sorry. I knew you found her, but I didn’t…” She shook her head and placed a supportive hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry.”
Angus swallowed again as he covered her fingers with his palm. “Thomas was watching the river. I think that’s why he has the nightmares. He saw her fall. She hit her head right where we’re standing.”
As if some invisible force had suddenly taken control of him, he couldn’t stop the words from spilling free. Too long he’d kept all this inside. Too long he’d tried to forget instead of facing the horrible day his life had fallen apart. Now, emotion demanded freedom. Fears refused to stay locked away. “I don’t know what else to do with Thomas. If something happens to him, something I could prevent, I’d never live with myself.”
The tender squeeze of Isolde’s fingers encouraged as much as they comforted. He returned the gesture, thanking her the only way he knew how. “When I saw him here, there wasn’t any logic, Isolde. Just instinct.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I can’t fail him, too.”
A long moment of silence descended, each tick of quiet nudging him deeper into unease. He’d said too much. This wasn’t Isolde’s burden, and he must look like a weak fool. He opened his mouth to apologize and swiftly change the subject, but whatever words he’d intended vanished at the gentle press of her lips.
“You can’t fail him. He loves you too much.”
Her whisper hung between them as their gazes locked. In those silvery portals, he read acceptance that he couldn’t give himself. Affection he didn’t deserve after the way he’d just treated his son. And yet, he needed that tenderness, needed that silent embrace as much as he needed air to breathe. Perhaps more.
He framed her face between his palms and gently settled his mouth against hers. At the clasp of her lips, the rest of his barricaded emotions tumbled free. Somehow, in some way he couldn’t explain, she gave him strength he couldn’t find on his own. She always had. Her vibrant spirit, the courageous way she confronted him when he was out of line, the way she always made him feel as if everything mattered in some small way—she’d been barging her way inside his heart since the first foot she set inside Hatherly.
But it was all so overwhelming, the emotion that ripped at his heart. It was far easier to accept the way she fueled his passion and aroused desire. Those sensations he knew what to do with. How to sate the gnawing hunger Isolde awakened. He dropped one hand to the small of her back and pulled her flush against him as he deepened the kiss.
Chapter Thirteen
Isolde braced her hands on Angus’s shoulders to steady against the staggering onslaught of raw emotion that poured through his kiss. More than just passion accompanied the stroke of his tongue. More than simple lust. And though she couldn’t entirely define the specific feeling, the heated play of his lips awakened a similar need inside her. She curled her fingers into the brushed cotton of his shirt and swayed into his powerful body.
Though they connected from torso to toes, the feel of taut muscles wasn’t enough. A frustrated mewl bubbled to the back of her throat. Her heart no longer cared whether or not he chased after the memory of Camille. He held her, he wanted her, and she needed more.
“Angus.” She broke the kiss, breathless.
The burn behind his green eyes spoke words she couldn’t work through her narrow throat. When he spoke, his whisper was hoarse. “Put your arms around my neck.”
Leaning closer in search of his mouth once more, Isolde did as instructed. But as their lips connected, he dropped one hand to her hip and guided her leg to his waist. Before she could comprehend his full meaning, he lifted her up, and guided the second in place. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, contentment blending with anxiousness as the tip of his tongue teased hers. Easy backward steps took them away from the open bank of the river, into the scant shelter of the willow grove. Under the leafy canopy, Angus lowered her back to her feet.
Her hands warred with his, eagerly questing for the comfort that would come with bare flesh. With a chuckle, he pushed hers aside and fisted the hem of her sweater into his fingers. She stepped back, allowing him to pull the garment over her head and toss it aside. His gaze locked on breasts she hadn’t bothered to constrain in a bra. A cool breeze stirred the branches and kissed her skin. Her nipples beaded. Angus’s jaw tightened.
Silence hung between them. Time suspended.
In the next heartbeat, Angus framed her face between both hands and claimed her mouth with abandon. Dimly aware, Isolde acknowledged the sensation she was falling. Angus hit the ground on his knees, holding her up, guiding her to safe landing even as he eased her onto her back. Like wildfire on a barren plain, his urgency consumed her. She fitted her hands between their bodies and tugged at the button on his waistband.
Yet when her fingers encircled his swollen cock, Angus stilled. Languor filled his kiss as he drew it to a close. He slowly raised himself onto his hands and lifted his head. Long eyelashes lowered, a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth as he allowed her freedom with his body.
“Damn,” he murmured on a sharp breath of air. “Your hands are heaven.” He inhaled again, pushed his hips forward to glide through her fingers. His ragged exhale tightened the ache within her womb. “Ah, Isolde…”
With her free hand, she pushed at his trousers. “Take these off.”
A reluctant groan rumbled in his chest as he arched his hips, freeing himself from the grip of her fingers. He rocked back on his heels, then stood only long enough to shuck his loosened clothes. When he knelt again, he popped the button on her waistband and tugged the lightweight pants down her legs, leaving her gloriously exposed, the short blades of grass tickling the backs of her knees.
The tip of his erection nudged her thigh as Angus lowered himself into her arms. His skin warmed hers. The scent of his cologne danced in the gentle breeze.
Feeling swelled behind Isolde’s ribs. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop the sudden, unexplainable surge of what she now understood was love, and the disparaging taunt of death that accompanied the forbidden emotion.
Love you. So much. Thoughts drummed against her skull. She breathed deep to squelch them down and closed her eyes as she parted her knees.
Angus settled between her legs, his erection tucked against her soft feminine flesh. His mouth found hers, softly, tenderly. As if he were content to do nothing more than kiss her until the sun sank behind the horizon.
The torment of his thorough exploration made Isolde squirm. She twisted her hips in search of the fulfillment that would only come when he was buried inside her and they had become one.
A rush of air hissed past Angus’s teeth. For a heartbeat, every hard inch of his powerful frame turned as rigid as steel. Then, as he drew a long deep breath, the tension eased beneath Isolde’s palms, and with a deliberate arch of his hips, he eased himself inside her.
Satisfaction sank into every pore of Isolde’s body. He felt so right. So perfectly designed for her. She could spend another thousand centuries here like this, trapped beneath the weight of Angus’s body, feeling the pulse of his cock deep within her womb.
“I could stay inside you forever,” Angus whispered at her shoulder.
“Mm.” She lifted her hips, matching the slow thrust of his. “Me, too.” Sensation tripped down her spine and a wash of warmth infused her veins. She moved against him again, chasing bliss. “Right here. Always,” she murmured as she closed her eyes.
****
Always.
Angus bit back a groan as the truth of how much he wanted that infinite span of time enveloped him. He wanted Isolde, and he’d spent too much of their time together wasting happiness with ridiculous fighting. From the moment she walked into the cellar he should have told her he never wanted her to leave again.
Holding her like this, feeling her more intimately than he had dreamed could be po
ssible… He let out a groan as emotion swamped him.
As the sound faded in the back of his throat, Isolde’s inner walls clamped around him and sent another rush of ecstasy surging through his veins. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate, but damn it, this time he wanted to find release with her, not scant seconds later.
He dropped his head and drew a taut nipple between his teeth. Her back arched off the grass and a moan slid past her parted lips. Pleasure laced through the small of his back, tightening his muscles like drawn bowstrings. So close. So damnably close.
Angus pushed past the rise of desire and rolled her nipple around his tongue. He dared not look at her expression, certain that if he did, he’d lose all hope of controlling his body’s fierce demands. Her soft sounds were torment enough.
When he closed his teeth around her hard flesh and nipped just sharp enough she could feel the sting, Isolde bucked against him. The thrust of her hips pushed him deeper within her womb. A whole new burst of ecstasy washed over his straining body. He pulled back, drawing himself through that heavenly warmth, allowing the feel of Isolde to saturate his awareness.
Slow, steady thrusts urged her to let go. Slower, more deliberate strokes of his tongue demanded she comply. Her hands slid to the small of his back, her nails dug into the base of his spine. She lifted into him, her breathing as ragged and harsh as his own.
He fought release as he had never battled it before. How she could bring him this far, this quickly, mystified him. How she responded amazed him even more. She held nothing back, made no attempt to silence the quiet cries that tumbled off her lips. Like she was every bit as powerless to the surge of sensation as he was.
Feeling the tightening of her body, Angus drew hard on her nipple as he thrust once more. Isolde keened. Her sharp cry sent him barreling past restraint. Ecstasy burned through his veins, blistered through his mind. Tiny sparks lit behind his eyes, and he gathered her close, thrusting deep as his own hoarse voice joined with hers.
Gradually, their bodies slowed. Awareness seeped through the haze of bliss to demand he open his eyes. When he looked down at her, he found her smiling up at him. But as she lifted a hand to push her fingers through his short hair, those mesmerizing silver eyes pierced through what ineffective protective barriers he possessed. Love hit him square in the gut. It sucked the air from his lungs and left him clinging to a thin branch overhanging a fathomless cavern.
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