She gave a snarl and snapped her head up. Her eyes were hard. ‘It was not just a kiss. It was stolen and humiliating and it hurt. When he spoke of what a wife must do he laughed. He said he would enjoy it.’
‘Aye, well, you are supposed to enjoy it,’ Ewan said. He bit his tongue, realising as he spoke that what Duncan McCrieff enjoyed might not be what this innocent young girl would like.
‘Both participants,’ he added.
She lifted her eyes. ‘Have you done it?’
‘Aye,’ he replied cautiously. ‘Most men have.’
Her lips twisted into a grimace as he presumably confirmed every base thought she had of him, but her eyes were hungry, with pupils so wide their blackness enveloped him.
‘It is your fault that I cannot rid my mind of these thoughts that plague me!’
She was trembling. Ewan leaned back, unsure what exactly he was being accused of and unaware of anything he had done to provoke such ire.
‘Thoughts of what?’
‘Of kissing and more.’Ewan’s heart sang at the idea this radiantly beautiful woman might have contemplated kissing him.
Marguerite covered her face with her hands. ‘When you touched me this morning, while you were still asleep... I liked it. I didn’t want you to stop.’
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ he murmured. His throat felt parched. He moistened his lips.
‘Kiss me,’ Marguerite murmured.
He almost choked. ‘What did you say?’
‘Please, Ewan.’ She stroked his cheek, searing his skin. ‘Show me it isn’t something to fear.’
‘What is there to fear?’ he asked in bewilderment. In his case, only a heart that could break with need to obey her request.
She sniffed. ‘To a man it means nothing, of course. There is no threat to you.’
‘Are you worried you’ll lose your reputation?’ Ewan asked.
‘I’m worried I will lose my life,’ she replied quietly. ‘Women die in childbirth, but what risk can there be in a kiss? I trust you. I know you would not force more from me.’
Ewan’s heart speeded up, drumming a march with such intensity he thought it might burst free of his chest.
She stroked his cheek. ‘I want it to be you.’
‘You don’t really mean that.’
‘I do’
She might as well be a lamb announcing she trusted a wolf.
‘You’re asking a lot?’
‘Am I? Is kissing me such a great trial?’ Her voice was more sob than words. Her eyes were wide and beseeching, rimmed with pink from the tears she had shed but full of hunger and fear. Ewan raised his to the ceiling, wondering what purgatory he was in to be asked such a thing when he’d thought of little else for days. He stroked her arm.
‘Aye, lass, I’ll kiss you. But once only.’
She bit her lip and it took all Ewan’s self-control not to seize hold of her and devour her. His hand was trembling as he took hold of her chin, tilting her face to his. Her eyes were trusting with only a flicker of apprehension in them. He intended the kiss to be light and quick. Nothing more than a brotherly skim of the lips: a small indication that kissing could be enjoyable to ease her mind.
He touched his lips to hers briefly, then drew back, but Marguerite came into his arms. She placed her hands on his shoulders and craned her head up, arching her back and pressing her mouth hard against his. She began to move her mouth wildly. She had no idea what to do and Ewan wondered what Duncan McCrieff had done to make her think this was what kissing should be.
Ewan pulled back, spread his fingers over the contours of her cheekbones and held her still.
‘Not like that.’
This time, he kissed her with all the depth of passion he had been suppressing, controlling the pressure and speed. Marguerite parted her lips and began to move them with a steady measure that complemented Ewan’s. A melody to his rhythm. She tasted so sweet Ewan forgot his resolve to be brief. He captured her bottom lip between his, lightly tugging until she opened her mouth a little more.
He sighed and closed his eyes, giving himself over to the pleasure and wondering who was teaching whom. She twisted closer, hooking her bare foot over his. It was cold and broke through the fog of lust Ewan was lost in. A warning beacon lit in the part of his mind he still had control over. If he allowed her to embrace him—and embraced her back—he would be in danger of going far beyond kissing and that was something he could not permit himself to do.
He drew away.
‘I think that will do, don’t you?’ he said in a ragged gasp.
She gave a small sigh of disappointment, lips still parted, full and ready to be kissed again. Ewan wanted to rage at her. Lying on a bed with a man she had kissed with unfettered passion and giving him a look of such heavy-lidded sensuality was like a doe stepping into the path of a hunter and beseeching him not to loose an arrow. He remembered his first awakening of lust and the confusing, overwhelming turmoil of emotions that had riddled him. It had been for his mother’s maidservant and he had been torn between wanting to bed her to satisfy the burning need to possess the woman who drove him to distraction and wanting to avoid her at all costs. Now those same desires were bursting forth within him again, obliterating all other sentiments. If the urges were reciprocated, it was going to make the journey much more complicated, but Marguerite looked at him with such entreaty his resistance was melting once more. He placed a fingertip on her bottom lip and pushed it gently to join the upper one.
‘Before we do anything we cannot undo,’ he said firmly, drawing his hand away.
The distracting lips turned down. ‘I understand. I know men can’t stop when they are roused to passion.’
‘Oh, don’t believe that. Some choose not to, but we can stop. It isn’t enjoyable, however. Especially when a man is lying close to a woman as beautiful as you and his body is giving him commands it takes a great deal of strength to disobey.’ He sat up and tucked the blanket over Marguerite, giving her a rueful grin.
‘For that reason I shall find my rest elsewhere. Sleep well, Marguerite.’
He spent the night on the floor beneath the table.
Chapter Fourteen
Marguerite woke late the next morning, roused by the sound of children wanting their breakfast. She stretched out her arms wide. She had the mattress to herself, and flushed with guilt when she recalled how Ewan had spent the night on the floor. She opened her eyes and looked over to where he had taken himself, but he was already awake and sitting at the table. Their eyes met and his gaze lingered on her as she looked up at him from the pallet. He brought her over a cup of milk and a hard oatcake, holding it out to her with a grin.
‘You look better rested than yesterday. That’s good. I let you sleep longer than I should have.’
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I know. But you looked so peaceful I hadn’t the heart to disturb you.’
She took the cup. Their fingers brushed and fire raced along the length of her arm like a brand along her skin. Her breath caught, remembering the overpowering heat that had flooded her as he kissed her. She bowed her head and sipped the warm milk, conscious he was still watching her.
‘We have a long climb ahead of us today,’ Ewan said. ‘I’ll leave you to dress.’
He went to speak to Moira behind the curtain that divided the room. Marguerite pulled on her clothes and folded her remaining linens back into her bag, but pulled out her jewel casket. She called Ewan to join her. She had kept the contents secret, but after they had shared confidences in the night she did not mind him seeing what she had. She opened the box to display the treasures within. Ewan gave a low whistle and dipped his finger in to inspect the pieces.
‘This is worth a lot.’
‘My father is a rich man,’ she reminded him.
‘You’ve been c
arrying these around wrapped in your stockings since Stirling? D’you not think it might have been wise to tell me before now?’
‘I saw no reason to tell you. I told you I could pay for my passage and you see I speak the truth. Some are keepsakes from my mother and others would have been part of my dowry,’ she said. ‘What should I choose that they would be able to exchange?’
‘Maggie, you’ve already given them your clothes. Anything here will be more than they could need.’ He reached out to shut the lid. She seized his hand to prevent it.
‘Ewan, let me do this. Anything I have left will be gifted to the convent when I enter it, but I want to leave these people something to ease their lives.’
‘A convent? That’s what you plan to do?’
‘I nursed my mother and ran my father’s household. I like being useful. I can tend the poor and sick there.’
He looked shocked and reached out a hand to her arm, as if intending to hold her back. It occurred to her that they had discussed only her plan to return to France, not what she would do when she arrived.
‘And that is your reason? Could you not do that elsewhere?’
‘Perhaps I could have once, but now I have disgraced myself and my family. I have no other option, nor do I want one.’ She bit her lip, hearing the regret that she hoped he did not notice. She had known her path since she fled from Duncan, but while travelling with Ewan it had become tangled and twisted.
‘All I desire is a life of peace.’
Liar, her body shouted. She desired so much more than that in the form of the man standing before her with sorrow in his eyes. She fixed her gaze on the jewel case. Ewan sighed and picked out a slender gold choker with five pearls hanging from it.
‘This, but the gold only. They’ll be able to cut it when they’re in need.’
He drew his vulgar-handled dagger and walked to the table. Now that Marguerite knew what the design represented she could not look at it without blushing, while feverish with curiosity to discover how accurate it was. She wanted his lips on hers, his hands on parts of her she should blush to contemplate. The kiss had opened her eyes to what delights existed and she burned to discover more. One kiss might have been too far, but she wanted more.
Ewan cut the pearls from the choker and dropped them into Marguerite’s hand, closing her fingers over them. He ran his thumb slowly over the ridges of her knuckles, then further down across her wrist where the pulse beneath began to race.
‘You’re a good woman, Maggie.’
If he knew what she was contemplating, he would not say that.
‘Give it to her, please,’ she said.
Ewan spoke to Moira, who rushed over and embraced Marguerite pouring out such fervent thanks that Marguerite became embarrassed and was glad when Ewan took her arm with a quiet ‘come now, Wife, we must be going’ and they left the small houses behind them.
The path that begun the long climb upwards was steep and rocky. They rode side by side at first, then one behind the other, but when they were unable to do even that they were forced to dismount and walk. Their spirits were high despite this because Marguerite’s saddle now had a rush basket attached to it containing a small pot of honey, four fresh eggs, warm oatcakes and a rabbit to be roasted that night. Ewan even managed to hide his obvious exasperation when Marguerite queried whether he had paid for what Moira had given them.
‘Aye, lass, I wouldna’ take what they have without leaving them something, though they’ll be able to buy a hundred rabbits if they liked.’ He looked ahead, pointing to the peaks in the distance that were silhouetted grey in the morning light. ‘Save your breath for walking. You’ll need all your strength.’
The mountains were forbiddingly high and the sky was cloudless. The day would be warmer than the one before.
‘Are we crossing those?’ Marguerite asked.
‘Not right across the top. We’re crossing the pass into the next valley and we’ll meet up with the road once we’re down and past the top of the loch.’
‘The road from Druinunn?’
‘The road from everywhere south. We can be at Lochmore Castle within three nights and in the meantime there will be more inns and steids for us to sleep in so we won’t have any more nights in the forest or on floors. We’ll both be glad of that.’
He smiled, but she couldn’t return it.
‘What if we meet Duncan?’
‘We’re unlikely to do that. If he had followed Angus and Jamie he would be a day ahead of us at least. It’s a good thing.’
He stroked her arm. Since the night before he had done that more often, finding reasons to touch her in some way, and she had responded with small gestures of her own. He had not spoken of what Marguerite had induced him to do, or made any complaint about what must have been another uncomfortable night.
* * *
When they stopped after two hours of climbing and Marguerite tried to arrange the folds of her arisaid around her waist and tried to mimic the way Moira wore hers, she could see him studying her from the corner of her eyes.
She knew she should feel ashamed of what she had said and done, but whenever such feelings threatened to appear they were immediately beaten into submission by the memory of Ewan’s lips on hers. It had been glorious; soft yet firm and leading her into dizzying pleasure she had not even suspected could exist. She had believed kisses involved only mouths, but last night her entire body had responded to Ewan’s touch. If Duncan had kissed her like that, she might never have fled Stirling at all.
Then she remembered the hard look in Duncan’s eyes and the cruel manner in which he had mocked her reluctance. He might force her to his will, but he would never be capable of wielding power over her with such thrilling gentleness as Ewan had done. It was fortunate indeed that he had shown more control than Marguerite had. Now at least she had one secret, stolen memory that she would look on with fondness for the rest of her life to take with her into the cloisters.
He handed her a bottle and she drank the cold, sweet water. Nothing had tasted so good. She licked her lips and passed it back to him. He took it wordlessly, his face wearing the forbidding expression she had not seen for days.
‘Why are you going to spend your life in a convent?’
Marguerite caught her breath. How had he guessed what she was thinking of so unerringly?
‘I do not wish to return to my father’s house,’ she said. ‘I think he will be angry with me for what I did, but even with his forgiveness it contains too many memories of my mother. My eldest brother is at court, the next one has a wife I do not like and my younger brother intends to become a priest so spends all his days praying in the chapel. It isn’t the same home I left.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not what I meant. Why a convent at all? You’re so young to shut yourself away for ever.’
Not so young. Today was her birthday. It should have been her wedding day, too, and the fact that she had only just remembered made her want to laugh out loud.
‘It is quite usual in France. When I was thirteen I would have entered a convent as my sisters did until they married, but my mother could not bear to part from me so I stayed at home and took lessons with my brothers. When she fell sick she wanted me to nurse her so I did not go at all.’
‘Why not marriage, I meant. A husband in France.’ He shrugged. ‘Or in Scotland even.’
‘I have just left one bridegroom. Even if another man would have a woman who behaved so disgracefully and ruined herself, I do not wish to be married,’ she replied curtly.
She walked back to the horse and began adjusting the bridle with a pretence of concentration so she had an excuse to hide her face. She knew the moment he came to stand close behind her. The rich musky scent that she had smelled on his clothes and skin when they lay close drifted to her nostrils, causing the hair on the back of her arms to stand on end. She was certain she c
ould feel the heat of his body, even though such a thing seemed unlikely. He took the bridle from her hand.
‘Not all men are like Duncan McCrieff.’
His eyes were full of fire that was alarming in its intensity. The desire that had awoken at his kiss began to flicker inside Marguerite once more. She pushed it down, but recalled the way he had opened his heart to her the night before.
‘I have seen too many women suffering to believe you. My sister Françoise told me so much of what is required of a wife. I could not bear it happening to me.’ She dropped her eyes.
‘What happening?’ he asked, puzzlement writ clear on his face.
‘Cruelty. She said he would whip her at times. Not in response to any wrongdoing, but because he enjoyed it. She said it made him more vigorous when he made love to her.’
Ewan gave an angry, animalistic growl. ‘I wouldna’ describe that as lovemaking.’
‘She said when he touched her breasts it was as though he were milking a cow, tugging until she could barely keep from crying out. I once tried to speak to him, but he threatened to beat me, too, and now will not admit me to his home so I have not seen her for two years.’
‘He sounds like an oaf who should have stuck to his cows,’ Ewan snarled. He lifted her chin with a finger, staring earnestly at her. ‘I’m sorry for your sister, but hers is not the only husband. Can you not think of any happy marriages?’
‘My sister Marie’s was not unhappy. Her husband was a fat old man, but he treated her kindly and only required his rights once a week.’ She felt tears welling and swallowed, carrying on in a thick voice. ‘She gave thanks to all the saints when she became pregnant because he no longer touched her.’
‘And is she happier now?’ Ewan asked.
‘She died a week after giving birth. She bled and bled and didn’t stop. Her daughter died, too.’
‘Oh, lass. Oh, Maggie, I’m so sorry.’
‘Even my mother, who was fond of my father, was worn out with so many pregnancies that she had no strength to fight the canker that grew in her womb,’ she whispered.
A Runaway Bride for the Highlander Page 15