by C. C. Wiley
A few of her tresses had loosened from the braid and curled around her shoulder. It glistened under the torchlight. Like a siren, it called to him. His breath came quicker and ’twas not based solely on his rising desire for the woman. A frown tugged at his brow.
Her steps had certainly picked up pace. If he did not know any better, he would guess that she had a rendezvous with a lover. His mood darkened. Determined to stall whatever plans for the remainder of the night that did not include him, he planted his feet in front of what must be the family gallery.
He pointed up at the narrow-faced man and tall plump woman sitting astride black muscular beasts. “My God, they are magnificent!”
Meg puffed a breath. Her hands on her hips, she stared at him as if he were a contrary child. She swept back her hair and returned to his side. “They are?”
“Just look at the mass of muscle, the strength and power.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose I’ve never thought of them in that light.” She bit her lip, drawing his attention away from the tapestry.
“Are they Percherons?” he asked. “Are they still alive? Have they bred others?” Could this be the reason for DePierce’s attraction?
Confusion clouded her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
Nathan blinked and pointed to the dark warhorses that any good knight would kill for and protect. They were the stuff of which legends were written. “The horses. I must know who their sires are.”
Her eyes widened, their depths glittered back at him. “Oh!” Her chest rose and fell as if she ran a race.
Entranced by the movement, Nathan leaned in closer. All thought of DePierce and the king’s mysteries surrounding the land fell away. His breath hitched as she reached out. To touch him? Stroke his jaw? Did she feel the growing need too? Would she ever admit it? His muscles, preparing for the onslaught of sensations that he was certain would come at her lightest touch.
“I thought you were interested in my parents.” She traced the tapestry’s threads. “Lady Beatrice and Lord Godwin.”
Heat rose up Nathan’s neck until he swore it could catch the damn painting on fire. “My apologies. I—”
She waved him off. “Just don’t speak of it to my sister.”
“I meant your family no harm.” He scrubbed his jaw. “I seem to be making a mess of things ever since we met over the stream.”
“On the contrary. I’ve enjoyed the distraction.” Her sad smile tugged at some small corner of what used to be someone who cared deeply. A blush bloomed over her cheeks. “’Tis but these are not Percherons. Our family began dabbling in breeding Friesian horses when my father returned from his many…” She waved the air. “Trips. He found the breed much to his liking.”
She arched her back to examine the subject of great interest. A chuckle reverberated from her slender throat. “Brother John and my sister Phillipa are quite protective of them.”
Enthralled by the sight, Nathan whispered. “Beautiful.”
Her dark eyes, deep pools of glittering passion, turned to him. Ebony lashes fluttered against her high cheekbones.
Nathan’s hand hung in the space between them. He needed only to stretch out his finger, trail it over her collar and up her neck.
As if aware of his thoughts, she stepped out of reach. “I will be sure to share your enthusiasm with my sister. She’s already hard to live with, but now that the king’s knight has an interest, she will be impossible.” Meg’s shoulder lifted. “She is certain to keep you entertained with all manner of breeding theories.”
Though he had no plans on being tied to a little girl who thought she knew a thing or two about horses, he nodded in agreement. “I shall be indebted to her at gaining some of her knowledge.”
Meg motioned for them to return to the path through the halls. They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Unsure of where they were going, he allowed her to lead the way. Besides, he rather enjoyed the position. It gave him a view of her backside, swaying under layers of soft wool. He stumbled on the next step and frowned. Never one to be a lumbering ox he frowned at the possibility that something new was becoming unhinged.
Meg paused at the top of the stairs. The wide hallway stretched to both sides. “Brother John has seen that your bedchamber has been prepared. I hope you’re an early riser. The sun shines through the window at morningtide.”
Nathan clutched his chest. “My fair lady, do not make me go back on my word.”
Her brows arched, a twist of the corners of her mouth, proved she had a bit of humor in that very controlled person that she portrayed. “Another broken heart? Say it is not so.”
“Only a small crack.” He shook his head. “I fear that should I not see you safely to your chambers, ’tis certain it shall shatter.”
The suffering sigh warned that he had pushed her to her limits. “As you wish, Sir Knight.”
Triumphant in stalling her, he cupped her elbow and lifted the candles high. “Lead on my lady.”
They came to the end of the hall. Sconces littered the wall, their tapers lighting the way. A window opened out over a narrow courtyard and the shore below. Her arms folded across her middle, she blocked the door to her bedchamber.
“And this is as far as you will go,” she said.
Her palm pressed gently against his chest. Did she feel his heart thundering toward her, reaching out for some bit of comfort?
“I bid you but one more request before we say goodnight.”
Suspicion widened her eyes. “Your room is down that way,” she said as she turned to unlatch the door. “Until tomorrow.”
“Wait.” Refusing to think anymore, he cupped her arm, sliding his palm up her soft woolen sleeve. How did they make it so soft? He filed that question away for tomorrow. At that very moment all he wanted to concentrate on was her lush lips. The feel of her in his arms. “I ask but one kiss. To help me sleep of sweet dreams. With you on my lips.”
He allowed himself to stroke her lower lip with his thumb. Ah, to sip, to cover her mouth with his lips. Eyes closed, he leaned forward inhaling her sweet honeyed perfume that seemed to linger on her clothes, in her hair.
Bracing his hands on the doorframe, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Their bodies so close, the air between them heated with their breath.
He dove into a kiss that made him feel like he had finally come home, returning from a long and weary battle. She tasted better than he had imagined. He wanted to pleasure her until dawn.
They stood on a precipice, desire and passion waiting for Fate’s winds to push them in either direction. His fingers dug into the wooden frame to keep from touching her as he desired. He waited, willing her to plead with him to take the leap together.
Her silence gave him pause. Did she tremble from desire or out of fear? He could not bear it was out of fear of him.
He did the most torturous thing that he could ever imagine and dragged his mouth from hers. His limbs quaked with need. He touched his forehead to hers. Shuddering breaths shook their bodies. “I must… We must…” Groaning, he gave into his little head’s whispers. One more taste of her sweetness.
Her fingers forked through his hair, tugging, drawing him closer, deeper.
“Damn,” he growled against her resistant mouth. Torn from the fantasy he snapped open his eyes. Fire scraped across his scalp. He reared back, her fingers tangled in his hair, yanked his head away.
Her chest rose and fell as she gasped for deep breaths. Tears glistened from her darkened gaze. Her desirable lips, rosy from his lust. “You will take your person to your bedchamber, Sir Nathan,” she ordered. “And we will never speak of this again.”
Nathan shook his head to clear it from passion’s haze. Dear God, what had he done? Never had he taken advantage of a woman. They had always come willing to him. Is this another slip of the mind?
Realizing he still gripped the door
frame he released it and backed away. His knuckles ached from the stranglehold he’d had on his restraint.
“My Lady Margaret,” he croaked. “Forgive me. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake,” she whispered under her breath. The latch gave under her hand and she slipped inside.
“Lady Meg,” he called through the wooden planks.
The lock clicked in place, ensuring he could never persuade her to change her mind.
He pressed his forehead to the door and imagined he could feel her, just out of reach. “I never intended to hurt you,” he whispered.
Nathan dragged himself away from her door and searched out his own room. He found it as she had directed. Despite his weariness, he paced the floor. He could not shake free of the fear that should he sleep, the dreams would return. And then once again he would awaken, empty and lonely as the large empty bed filling the bedchamber.
He grabbed a flagon someone had kindly left on the side table. An oversized chair waited beside the hearth. He sat down, eager to find solace in the cup, and poured himself a hefty drink.
He took a tentative sip. A fruity explosion coated his tongue. The sweetness of the mead surprised him. ’Twas not that weak ale served in the village.
It reminded him of Lady Margaret. Sweet, complex, and a little dangerous. “Meg.”
He sifted through the events of the day and poured another drink. The coil, wound so tight that it threatened to break him, began to release its hold.
Chapter 6
Meg rested her head against the door and listened for his footsteps to announce his retreat. What had she done?
The door was the only thing that stood in their way. It would have taken just a simple nod, a tug on his sleeve, to take him to her bed. She had trembled, wanting and fearing that he would kiss her again. Not that she feared the man. No, she feared her wantonness. How could she desire a complete stranger while there were others who threatened her family and village?
Loneliness, the like of which she had never known before, swept over her. There would be no more shared kisses. She had made a promise to her dead parents. It could never be broken.
She pressed her fingers to her lips. They were hot, swollen; raw with need. She slipped her palm down her bodice, scraping her nails over her breasts. The apex between her legs ached to be stroked. Her thigh muscles squeezed together.
He said their kiss was a mistake. It may have been wrong for them to share a moment of weakness. But a mistake? A broken sob escaped. Emptiness met her need, stripping her of a desire she thought buried with her youthful dreams.
A single kiss. Another shared in a moment so many years ago had brought them to destruction. No matter that her betrothed was not only ill; his brutal kiss had been cold and filled with anger. He had pinched and grasped, demanding what was soon to be his. She had wished him dead on that awful afternoon. And that curse was set in motion.
She shook her head. Sir Nathan’s kiss stirred something deep within that she thought had died along with those who had taken ill. But it no longer mattered that her future promised only empty arms and lonely nights. She had made that bed when she brought sickness to her family. She would not make that mistake again.
Meg unbound her braid and dragged her fingers through her hair. She splashed her face from the water the servant had set beside her dressing table. Though it cooled and refreshed her skin, the feel of Sir Nathan’s lips remained.
She paused to look at her reflection in the polished silver plate that hung on the wall. Once confident all visible signs of her wayward desires were erased, she set off for the clandestine meeting.
* * * *
Nathan jerked awake. Sweat dripped down his chest, trickling over his rib cage. He stripped off the damp linen shirt and scrubbed it across his skin. The rough material acted like a tonic, drawing him from the remnants of nightmares that continued to haunt him. They stuck to his thoughts like a spider’s web.
What tore him from the same dream? A sound that didn’t belong? He abandoned the chair to listen at the door. Nothing but silence. No movement outside his window. But he couldn’t let it go. Very few things could bring him up from the depths of fitful sleep.
He paced the bedchamber until it could no longer contain him. Except for the deep shadows cast upon the walls, the hall was empty.
The candlelight wavered as he strode past Meg’s door. He knew he should not walk in her direction. But she called to him like a siren of the sea. What would he do should she open her door and beckon him to enter? What wouldn’t he do? He paused, listening for footsteps on the opposite side of the door. Once again, silence ruled.
At the end of the hall a high arching window opened out to catch the breeze. The air’s salty tang coated the roof of his mouth. It slid over him, drying his dampened skin. Cooled his heated flesh.
He walked over to the window and leaned over the ledge. A sliver of the moon hung overhead. The globe cast miserly light on the pathway below.
A faerie’s burst of light, small and bright, caught his attention. It blinked on, then off. The change in shape and shadow wavered with movement. Whatever or whomever was down there took a chance on keeping their footing safe. And usually, that meant that they were up to no good.
Nathan stared into the night until his eyes watered. The keep and village were quiet, peaceful. There were no calls for help. No one shouted of the danger. He waited. Did he imagine it?
The headache threatened to return. He rubbed his stinging eyes. The gnawing fear that his imagination had taken over again caused him to turn away from his watch.
A shuddering sigh rumbled in his chest as he set off for his bedchamber. What good was he if he could no longer trust his instincts?
* * * *
Meg braced her legs and pretended to be stronger and more confident than she felt. Instead, her knees shook as she fought to contain the fury racing through her limbs.
Sweat dripped down her back, tickling the base of her spine. Although it was now summer, she had chosen the dark cloak to keep her hidden as she traveled the path to the cave below the keep. The small fire lighting the back of the cave heated the air.
She kept her clenched hands hidden under the folds of her cloak and worked her jaw loose. “How can you demand more payment for protection?”
Duncan Graham, spokesman of the clan residing on the edge of the land that divided Fletchers Landing and Scotland, pumped his wide shoulders. “There’s more to protect now.”
“Your calculations make little sense. Nothing has changed since our last agreement.”
“Aye. It has.” He stroked the dark whiskers shadowing his chin. “You’ve two younger sisters, do you not?”
Meg narrowed her gaze. “Yes. And again, I say nothing has changed.”
“Well now, that’s where we must differ.” He picked the end of his thumb with his dagger. His glance up made her stomach ache. “I’ve watched ’em grow up. Comely as ripe pears, dripping in your hand. Juicy and ripe.”
A feral snarl escaped. She touched the dirk hidden in her skirts. “Stay away from them.”
“Och, now did I say that I wanted to taste of their English skin?” He shook his head. “I’m ashamed for the both of us for thinking such a thing.” Duncan rose from the boulder, to tower over her. The dagger slid into its sheath. “But here’s the thing, my wee lass, you have a great deal of strangers traveling through this land.”
“’Tis no more than travelers bartering for supplies,” Meg snapped.
“I’m not a fool, my lady. If they’re not mercenaries, I’ll eat my sporran,” He nodded, certain he’d won that argument. “And the question begs to be asked: What would they want with the cottage wares you are so proud of?”
Meg bit her lip. Was she foolish enough to think no one noticed them lurking about the woods? “Who doesn’t need good candles to light their path?”
/> “You canna think we don’t watch everyone that comes and goes. ’Tis our agreed-upon task, is it not?” He shook his head. The thick mane of curls grazing his jerkin trapped the firelight. “I see them come and go. They don’t carry supplies from your village. They bring them in by boat and sit and wait for something.
“And I can’t help wondering what they want with your little spit of land. The village is nice enough, but not that it brings so much attention to strangers and mercenaries.”
Meg folded her arms, holding in the fear that began to grow out of control. Where was he leading with his questions?
“And then I think of those young maiden sisters of yours. Someone will soon demand a taste of their wares. And that,” he said, thumbing his chest, “is where our protection comes in.”
“Brother John will see to the children’s protection.”
“’Tis a pity. Though a worthy opponent, I grant you. He is getting up in years.”
“He serves us all well.”
“He won’t be able to protect you much longer.”
Her hackles began to rise. “Is that a threat? Do you intend to go against your word as a Scotsman?”
She fisted her hands on her hips. The hidden dagger begged to be brought out on display. What madness had befallen her to think that she could outbargain this man? “I am paying you to keep the border reivers off our lands. You might hold your sgian-dubh at my throat, but I will not let you bleed me dry. I’ll grant you no more.”
“Then control your own damn people, my lady. I canna keep mine from retaliating when their livelihood is stolen from their protected lands.”
“We do not rove across the lands. This is our agreement. The villagers know this.”
“Well, damn your arrogance. If I’m telling you that someone is breaking the agreement, then I’m telling you the damn truth.” His voice began to rise. “And you won’t insult me by calling me a liar.”