The effect he produced was not merely the result of his incomparable handsome looks—it was more than that. The monumental energy he seemed to possess was volcanic, and the discipline and courtesy of his manner, and his occasional sardonic humour, made him distinct from any other man she had ever known.
Often she would glimpse him through the window in her chamber, either talking with the gentlemen who were guarding the castle or riding out beyond the walls, and even when he was not in the castle she felt his dominating presence everywhere. She told herself that nothing he could do could tempt her, but she always looked for him, as if the sight of him was reassuring, quelling her fear and anxiety. As the days slipped by she realised with shock that, despite uncertainties in her life, and the unpleasantness of her abduction, which had made her Iain’s prisoner, she was content at Castle Norwood. After a while, however, being confined indoors and with little to occupy her time, she became tense and irritable.
She had been a prisoner for two weeks and Iain hadn’t spoken a single word to her in two days. Oh, if only she could go outside, she wished, as she paced the floor of the hall in angry frustration, looking around as if searching for some way to escape her confines. It was quiet and there wasn’t a soul about, but even when she was alone she was not naïve enough to assume she wasn’t being watched. Whether by tact or order, someone would be hovering close by.
‘Based on the way you are hellbent on wearing out my floor,’ said a deep, hearty and commanding voice from the shadows, ‘I gather you’re angry about something.’
Lorne turned with a start, surprised to see Iain and so relieved to have him speak to her at last that her heart began to beat in deep, fierce thuds of pure joy. However, she was startled and impressed to see him attired in a blood-red tartan shaded with yellow and green. A leather sporran was fastened in front, and wool stockings encased his muscular legs. A snug-fitting dark green jacket added to the ensemble, and the woollen plaid slung across his chest was secured at one shoulder by a large, circular bodkin enriched with precious stones. Any man in full Scottish regalia was a splendid sight, and a man of Iain Monroe’s physique was breathtaking. Taking a step back, she placed her hands on her hips and cast an exaggerated, mocking eye over the well-groomed Earl of Norwood from head to toe, her expression that of a mischievous, wily minx.
‘Why! ’Pon my word! Very fine. Very fine indeed.’
Iain’s clear eyes gleamed beneath his captive’s gloating pleasure, and he made no effort to limit his own perusal.
Lorne felt herself flushing, for at that moment nothing was more obvious to her than that imperious gaze taking in every detail of her own appearance, a most outrageous, devilish smile tempting his lips when his eyes lingered overlong on her breasts.
‘You look rather fetching yourself,’ he crooned, murmuring his appreciation as he made a leg and swept her a bow of impeccable elegance.
‘I am glad I meet with your standards, my lord,’ Lorne retorted scathingly, deliberately presenting her back to him and folding her arms.
The smile faded from Iain’s lips and was replaced by an ominous frown. ‘You’re angry.’
‘Of course I’m angry,’ she cried as he turned her round to face him. ‘I’m angry about everything and with everybody—as you would be, too, in my position.’
Iain regarded her from beneath an arched brow with mild amusement. ‘Including me?’
‘You most of all,’ she replied in a long-suffering voice. ‘I’m not used to being confined to one place for so long.’
‘But Castle Norwood is enormous—big enough for an army to disappear into.’ Iain felt slightly guilty for ignoring her these last two days and like a hundred kinds of monsters for what he was doing to her.
‘You know what I mean,’ Lorne said in exasperation, turning away from him and going to the window. She looked out longingly. ‘It looks such a lovely afternoon and I’m almost half-crazy for some fresh air.’
‘But it’s freezing outside,’ Iain told her, moving to her side.
She glared up at him as she tried to make him see her point. ‘Then I’m quite prepared to die of exposure,’ she quipped crossly. Immediately she tempered her tone and expression as she became prepared to wheedle and pander to accomplish her goal. ‘I just need some fresh air. Please be reasonable and let me go outside for just a few minutes. I’m hardly likely to try to escape with so many big, brawny men guarding me, all armed to the teeth.’
Iain hesitated, staring down in fascination at her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Momentarily he became preoccupied with how adorable she looked, dressed in that particular shade of rose pink that warmed her complexion. In all honesty he couldn’t blame her for being tired of her confinement to the house.
‘I might consider it.’
‘Consider it?’ she cried, disappointment written all over her face. Planting her fists irately on either side of her minuscule waist, she thrust her face forward ‘Thank you—you—you ogre—you insufferable, unspeakable gaoler. What pleasure can you possibly derive from denying me some fresh air? I’m not asking you to let me go beyond the courtyard.’ Suddenly Iain threw back his head and laughed, which only heightened Lorne’s fury. ‘Oh—you beast,’ she flared in exasperation. ‘How dare you laugh at my mortification?’
She stepped past him, fully intending to leave him standing there, but his hand shot out and captured her own.
‘Come with me,’ he said, his amazing laughter still ringing out as he led her towards the stairs. ‘If it’s fresh air you want, my lady, then fresh air you shall have in abundance.’
‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded, having to run to keep up with his long strides.
‘I have something to show you,’ he replied without slackening his pace.
As they climbed up from one floor to the next, Lorne became more and more intrigued. Telling her to follow him when they reached a narrow landing, Iain mounted a spiral stair that took them up to one of the turret rooms. Stepping inside, she gazed around the small circular room in wonder. Light filtered in through three narrow slits. Bracing her hands on the wall on either side of the one closest to her, she looked out over the roof of the castle.
‘Come,’ said Iain. ‘There’s a better view outside.’
‘Outside?’
He opened a little door in the corner. Taking her hand and ducking his head to pass through, he led her out on to a small balcony. The cold air hit her face with an icy blast, and the wind, stronger at this great height than down below, snatched the breath from her lips. With a gasp of dizzy delight and quite undaunted, Lorne leaned against a low parapet and looked down the sheer granite walls of the castle to the courtyard below and out to the countryside beyond.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, completely awestruck, startled when a group of ravens lifted as one to find a more peaceful place to roost. ‘If whoever built Castle Norwood meant to impress, he certainly knew what he was doing. The view is quite magnificent.’
Standing behind her, alarmed that she might lean over too far, Iain placed his arm firmly about her waist. ‘Careful—not too close.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve no stomach for picking your pieces off the flags below. That would take some explaining to your brothers.’
Too exhilarated to show any objection at being so familiarly handled, Lorne allowed him to keep his arm about her waist as she absorbed the view. From the parapet she could look down into the courtyard. Men and horses looked so tiny they resembled ants going about their work. Beyond the surround walls she saw the township, with its many rooftops and smoking chimneys, and large enough to boast a considerable number of shops, two taverns and a chapel. How beautiful it was in the afternoon sunlight. She shifted her glance round to the north, beyond the crofts to the hills and forests. Somewhere out there was the ancient town of Stirling, and even further to the north and west, the Highlands, where the purple heather and russet and gold bracken poured down the mountainsides like an elixir.
‘We’re so high up,’ she gasped, exp
eriencing a heady sense of freedom and laughing like a young girl as she felt the wind take hold of her hair and whip it about her head. ‘It’s unreal—just like being on top of the world.’
‘You could be right,’ Iain agreed, trying to ignore the way she felt in his arms as he lowered his head so that his mouth was close to her ear. ‘I often came up here as a boy. No matter what the season—whether it is raining, windy or the sun is shining—nothing ever changes. The air is always clean and fresh and there is a feeling of complete freedom.’
‘Weren’t you ever afraid of being so high up—that you might fall or be blown away?’ Lorne enquired, feeling a little light-headed from the unaccustomed height.
‘Never. In fact, all my life I not only went looking for danger, but I thrived on it.’
Lorne looked down into the courtyard once more, seeing men milling around the wellhead close to the kitchens, behind which she could see the kitchen garden. Just beyond that, surrounded by a square-sheltering wall covered with ivy, was a graveyard. She knew that it was in one of those graves that David Monroe’s body mouldered in the earth. Bitter memories flooded her mind, stirring a sadness inside her, but having no wish to goad the man behind her to a black fury by referring to his brother’s death, she shifted her gaze back to the village.
‘I’m surprised at how large the village of Norwood is. I always thought large villages a rarity in Scotland, where rural settlements usually take the form of scattered cottages or small hamlets.’
‘That’s usually due to the emphasis being on pastoral farming, which does not require extensive co-operation between neighbours,’ Iain informed her. ‘You can see from here that the land around Norwood is fertile and therefore able to support a large, concentrated community.’
‘Show me where Flora and John live—when they’re not at the castle guarding me,’ she remarked pointedly. ‘Can you point out the house to me from here?’ Her eyes scanned the maze of tiny streets and narrow lanes that made up the village.
Ignoring her jibe, which was intended to remind him of her position at Norwood, Iain obliged, pointing out a half-timber-framed three-storey house with a slate roof next to the chapel in a large square. Even from this distance Lorne could see it was a handsome residence.
‘I’ve just come from there,’ Iain told her. ‘No doubt Flora has told you that her father is the procurator fiscal for the parish of Norwood. Today was the occasion when as the Earl, and being law and judge of my domain, I had to hear complaints and settle disputes among tenants and tacksmen and dispense justice. Normally it is done at the castle, but the situation being what it is, and because there were some pressing matters to be dealt with, the fiscal’s house was the appropriate place to hold the proceedings.’
‘I am happy to see that you are inclined to leniency when you dispense justice, my lord.’
‘And how do you know that?’
‘Because even from this distance I can see that the whipping post and the pillory in the square are mercifully empty at this present time.’
Iain grinned, admiring her perception. ‘That is because there were only two cases of relative minor disputes. The youths involved saw the error of their ways and were duly pardoned.’
‘I wish you could see your way clear to interceding with the Privy Council, and arranging a pardon for my father,’ Lorne whispered daringly, steeling herself for the blast of fury this might provoke, but when Iain spoke his voice was surprisingly grave.
‘I can’t, Lorne. You know I can’t.’
She looked straight ahead, swallowing the lump that had appeared in the back of her throat. ‘I should have known better than to ask.’
‘It would have been better if he’d never returned to the Highlands.’
‘Perhaps, but I can understand why he has,’ she said softly. ‘Neither time nor distance could efface his attachment to the country of his birth. He is old and battle weary, and to die and have his bones consigned to the grave among strangers—far away from family and his native land—he could not endure.’
Eager to dispel the unease her request had placed between them, on a more cheerful note she asked him to tell her about Castle Norwood. He told her how it had been built in the sixteenth century by an ancestor of his who had played a distinguished part in Scottish history. Of Anglo-Saxon origin, his family could be traced to the days of King David in the twelfth century. Two centuries later his ancestors had given loyal service to Robert the Bruce and been awarded with extensive estates. As he recounted colourful and exciting stories of the people who long ago had lived in the castle, Lorne drank it all in, warming with the excitement of the adventures, and she could almost believe the spirits of these men of old still existed in the heart of the castle.
‘In the past, in times of war, from up here boiling oil and missiles would be thrown down on invading forces,’ he told her.
Lorne turned her head and met his eyes on a level with her own, eyes that were warm and danced as though he found their closeness and isolation up here on the roof vastly entertaining. Her antipathy towards him seemed to melt in the most curious way, for she found herself quite intrigued by this confounding man. Even when he was being hostile towards her, when he angered her intentionally, she never forgot the tragedy he felt over his brother’s death, and she felt a bond with him far deeper than her occasional resentment.
‘Would these invading forces be the McBrydes or the Galbraiths—or both, by any chance?’ she asked teasingly, her mouth trembling in the start of a grin to match his own.
‘Both, I should think, considering that everything they do they seem to do together.’
Conscious that Iain’s hard frame was pressed against her back and his arm firmly fixed about her waist, Lorne turned round and, pulling back, looked up at him. A heavy lock of black hair tumbled over his brow and blew about in the wind. The colour on her cheeks was gloriously high, which owed a great deal to the cold north-easterly wind. Her eyes were sparkling like twin emerald orbs. They were the most brilliant eyes Iain had ever seen, of a green so bright they seemed lit from within.
Iain was not a man of such iron control that he could resist looking down at her feminine form, which she held before him day after day like a talisman. Noticing things like how her gown clung to her round curves so provocatively, concealing the bountiful treasures beneath, gave him a clear sense of pleasurable torture. Now she was so close he could feel her warmth, smell the sweet scent of her body, all in such close proximity, and the memory of her responsiveness to his kiss by the stream sent heat searing into his loins. Why did this explosion of passion happen every time he was near her? Why could this one girl make him lose his mind? It dawned on him as he looked down into her face upturned to his that he wanted her more now than he had ever wanted her before, if that were possible.
‘I—I suppose we ought to go back down,’ Lorne said when a moment had passed, and his silence became unsettling.
In answer Iain frowned and gazed at her hard, looking like a man in the throes of some internal battle. ‘Is it possible that you are even more beautiful now than when I first saw you?’ he said in the lazy, sensual drawl that always made Lorne’s heart melt.
She laughed uneasily. ‘Fancy waiting until I’m perched on top of the roof with nowhere to run, to tell me that—with my hair all messy and my face red from the wind. It puts a woman at a disadvantage.’
‘I like you with your hair all messy and your red face,’ he breathed.
Lorne realised just how perceptive this man was. She was disturbingly aware of those warm spheres delving into hers as if he were intent on searching out her innermost thoughts. He held her at arm’s length, his eyes, full of intensity, refusing to relinquish their hold on hers. The hands on her shoulders were so powerful that Lorne felt like a child in his grasp. For an instant she thought he was angry, but then she saw a troubled, almost tortured look enter his dark eyes.
‘I’ve known many women, Lorne, and ventured far and wide, but no maid has provok
ed my imagination to such a degree as you do. You are a temptress, dangerous and destructive in your innocence. ’Tis hard for me seeing you day after day, knowing you are almost within my arm’s reach night after night, and not touching you as I want to do.’
His voice had softened to the timbre of rough velvet and made Lorne’s senses jolt almost as much as the strange way he was looking at her. Suddenly her sense of security began to disintegrate. ‘Did you really bring me all the way up here to take in the air and to look at the view?’ she asked quietly, feeling a treacherous warmth slowly beginning to seep beneath her flesh.
‘I wanted to be alone with you.’
‘And why should you think I want to be alone with you?’ she whispered shakily.
His relentless dark gaze locked with hers. ‘Neither of us has anything to gain by pretending the other doesn’t exist—that the kiss we shared by the stream never happened. I remember it, and I know damn well you remember it, too.’
Lorne wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t lie to him. He was right. The burning memory of that kiss lay between them, which had become a source of hideous anguish to her now, and increased her pain and wretchedness. ‘I haven’t forgotten it. How could I?’ she added defensively.
‘So far I have managed to convince myself that my memory of how sweet it was is exaggerated. Now I’m curious to know if it really was that good and ardently wish it might be repeated—and to finish what we began.’
‘Are you telling me you want to make love to me?’
The sweetness of her question was almost Iain’s undoing. ‘It is my most fervent desire. It is not just a question of wanting you, but of wanting you too much. The mere fact of being alone with you now is torture for me.’
He spoke in that cajoling tone that charmed Lorne. She shivered when she recalled the touch of his lips, which she was consciously yearning for. Breathing deep, she savoured it once more, feeling the hour of her defeat approaching. He entices women and they come eventually, John had told her, and she was no different. She smiled faintly. ‘Then you must be cautious, my lord, lest you forget who I am and why I am here.’ She became thoughtful, observing him with earnest attention. ‘I don’t want to fall in love with you.’
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