She felt something wet on her face. She wiped the tear away. She had not cried in a very long time.
Holy Mother, why was she doing it now?
THE oat cake was terrible, but the berry pie could have been the elixir of the Gods.
He ate the oat cake, though he had to work at it. He thought if he dropped it, it would bounce across the floor.
He had the pleasure, though, of watching the berry juice deepen the color of Kimbra’s lips and seeing the berry-smeared grin on Audra’s face. At that moment, he did not want to be anywhere else. He did not care about the past. Or the future. He only wanted today. This moment.
His eyes locked with Kimbra’s. There was a smudge on her cheek. He longed to touch it, to run his fingers through her hair and feel her body against his. Blazes, he should feel nothing but a fierce need to return home. To his own country.
Tearing his gaze away from her, he looked at Audra who was trying unsuccessfully to swallow a big yawn. Her eyelids were fluttering back and forth. A wave of tenderness swept through him.
Almost as if Kimbra read his mind, she rose from her chair and went to Audra, picked her up, and hugged her close, before taking her over to the pallet on the floor.
She returned to the table, poured him more ale. He drank it slowly, not wanting his mind to become addled. The fire in the hearth was roaring, the room was warm, the air dense with the attraction roaring between them.
“I am taking your bed,” he said. “I can sleep in here.”
“Nay. Audra’s asleep now, and it is safer for you to be out of sight.”
He asked the question that had been plaguing him. “What if the Howards say they have no one named Robert?”
“There are many Robert Howards, too many to count. They are scattered all over the border. It will take weeks to reach every branch of the family.”
“But when they do not find one missing, will they ask questions of you?”
“I can only tell them what you told me.”
That did not assuage his worry for her. She had risked much. At first she’d said it was for ransom, but even after she learned there probably would never be a ransom, she’d tended him.
He swore he would repay her. No matter what awaited him. She would never suffer for helping him.
He got to his feet with the help of the crutch. It was dark now, and Kimbra followed him with a candle lamp. He reached the bed and watched as she set the candle down.
“I should change the cloth around your wound,” she said.
“It is doing well.”
She was close to him, too close. The crutch slipped from his fingers, and his arm rested on her shoulder.
Her face, the bonny face that was usually so contained, was wistful. The smudge was still on her face, and he touched it, suddenly realizing it had been a tear. Her guarded eyes touched the core of his heart.
He unbraided her hair and watched as curls fell down her back. He touched it almost reverently.
He folded his arms around her as he balanced his bad leg with the good and held her tight. Relishing her scent of flowers mixed with berries, he lowered his head, his lips touching the soft skin of her face, caressing until he found her mouth and brushed a tentative kiss across her lips.
Her lips responded. She raised up on tiptoes, and the kiss turned feverish as her arms went around him and tightened around his neck. Need burned straight through him, and he knew by her response that she felt the same. The kiss deepened with a fierceness that nothing could break, a natural joining meant and destined.
He knew he should stop. But there was something so right about holding her, acknowledging the passion that was so strong it swept away every barrier. Need took over, need so great it threatened to consume him. He crushed her to him, his mouth insatiable as it tasted and wanted more, as heat sizzled between them.
His body arched as hers instinctively stretched against his, and her hands caressed the back of his neck.
Her tongue licked at his lips. Tension coiled in his body as he responded in kind, his mouth seducing hers. He savored the taste and feel of her.
A groan reverberated deep in his throat. He was aware of a craving he could not quite control. Lust mixed with something so much more tender.
He wanted her. He also wanted to protect her. The two were incompatible. Until he knew more about his life and future.
He drew away and looked at her. Her gray eyes smoldered. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen by his kiss.
“Kimbra,” he said raggedly.
He stroked the side of her face, then her neck in gentle movements, and then unable to resist, his mouth touched hers again. Everything in him wanted her.
With another groan, he drew his lips away. In the flickering light of the candle, he saw her face, saw the desire she couldn’t hide, the same wonder in her eyes that he felt.
He lowered himself to the bed, his hand catching hers until she, too, sat. He bent his leg, feeling streaks of pain as wounded muscles pulled. He welcomed the pain. It was a reminder of forbidden fruit.
“I should not have done that,” he said.
She fixed with that level gaze of hers. No blame. No regret. Instead, her fingers wrapped in his.
“I was as much at fault.”
She reached up and touched his face as if memorizing it.
“If I knew I was free . . .”
“You are obviously of a noble family,” she said, her face wistful but determined. “And you are a Scot. It would not matter if you were free.”
He wanted to persist, but the determination on her face stopped him. He wanted to say he didn’t care. But his mind was too full of holes. He knew nothing about his life. His family. The honorable thing was to wait until his memory returned.
He had no interest in being honorable. Not at this moment.
But she stood and took several steps backward.
He owed her enough to respect it.
“I will come back,” he said.
But he saw that she did not believe him.
Instead, she headed for the door.
“I will milk Bess in the morning,” he said.
“Nay,” she said, then smiled wanly. “She will probably never give milk again if you do.”
“That wounds me.”
“The best thing you can do is rest. Or you will never get back to Scotland.”
They were both ignoring what had happened minutes earlier, talking in strained tones to avoid the explosiveness still in the air.
“I am walking steadier. And breathing better,” he said. “You are a fine healer.”
“I just grow herbs,” she insisted. “That is all. If I could have brought you a physician I would have.”
Then she left, or fled, out the door.
Chapter 11
HE knew he had made a grave mistake.
He’d had no right to kiss her.
He went to the window. The night was soft. No clouds. Only a deep blue sky and millions of stars. ’Twas hard to imagine that so much violence and tragedy occurred weeks ago.
Then he saw her stride to the stable, her head high, her back straight, that glorious dark hair falling free.
I want her. I want her more than life itself. Thoughts of desire for Kimbra pounded through his head, heated his body. Had he ever wanted anyone else like this?
As if summoned, the image of a brown-haired lass flickered through his mind. She was running, her brown hair streaming behind her. She turned and tossed him a wide smile. Then as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone, vanished into a thick mist.
His wife?
He buried his head in his hands. Was that a true memory? A dream? Whatever it was, he had to find where he belonged.
He turned away from the window before the temptation of going to Kimbra became more than he could control. He’d done abysmally at controlling his actions earlier. If he stayed here, he surely would be damned. He could not use the woman who saved his life. Nor could he betray a woman to whom he migh
t have given vows.
Bloody hell, what kind of man had he been?
Had he always been . . . so weak?
The questions didn’t stop coming at him, and the few flashes of what might have been answers were only enough to tantalize him.
He used the crutch to walk around the room. He was steadier. The pain was still agonizing, but nothing he could not tolerate. The aching in his ribs intensified with any movement.
Could he sit on a horse?
Aye, if he had to.
He tried to concentrate on that. On the questions plaguing him. But his thoughts kept turning to Kimbra. The way she looked when he kissed her, then the stricken expression as she left the room.
In his mind’s eye, he saw her returning to the cottage, a pail in her hand. He went to the bed. She would look in on him. She always did, as if she were afraid he might have wandered off again.
This time he would be asleep. He had to be asleep.
Honor demanded it.
And he was an honorable man.
Or—he wondered—was he?
AUDRA was asleep when Kimbra reached the cot-tage. The fire cast flickering shadows over the room. The door to the other room was closed.
She hesitated, then looked in. He looked asleep on the bed.
She closed the door quickly, remembering how his lips had felt against hers, how wildly she had responded. Then the way she had literally run from him.
She lit a candle from the fire and put it into a lantern, then climbed the ladder up to the loft. She looked under the pallet that had been available to Will’s friends and found the crest and ring she’d hidden there. She left the ring and fingered the jeweled crest. She had but two clues to his identity. The crest. And the woman he mentioned in his dreams.
Who was Maggie? What was she to him?
And the crest? A shield, a helmet, a tower all encased in jewels. And words she could not read. Yet. Were they clues to his family? She wished once again that she could read. Never had it seemed so important.
Give it to him.
Then she would have nothing. He would leave, find his family and probably wealth, and forget all about his promises. She clutched it in her hand. Honor fought with survival.
His past against her daughter’s future.
She hid it back under the pallet. He could not have it on him now, in any event. If it were to be found, it would be a sure death warrant.
But she knew she was only justifying the unjustifiable.
Kimbra climbed down, her hand still warm from the crest, and laid down next to Audra. Audra deserved a life free from fear, from hunger.
The Scot deserved his heritage.
It was the devil’s own choice.
And she had no idea how she was going to make it.
KIMBRA rose after yet another restless night. All her doubts and fears nagged at her. She kept seeing the jeweled crest that had fastened the Scot’s plaid and wondered whether she had the right to withhold it from him.
Maggie. No doubt a highborn lady with manners and wealth. Yet Maggie had an earthy, warm sound to it.
The Scot puzzled her. She had served nobles, and none had the quiet courtesy he did. Her mother had been destroyed by the son of an earl and had taught her to be wary of anyone of noble blood.
And yet the Scot was uncommonly gentle and patient with Audra and respectful always of her. Had her father been that way until he wanted to rid himself of someone not his equal?
Bear barked, and she went outside.
Jane, leaning on a walking stick, approached.
Audra ran toward her.
Jane leaned down and gave her a big hug. “I missed my lovey,” she said.
Kimbra followed her daughter to Jane and greeted her. “’Tis good to see you. You’ve come for more bay leaves?”
“Aye, and to have a few words with ye.” She glanced down at Audra, then back to Kimbra.
Kimbra understood. “Can you go and feed Bess and Magnus? Then you can help me get Jane some fresh bread and honey.”
Audra regarded them both somberly, as if she knew something of importance was to be said when she was gone. Then she turned and walked toward the stable.
“She’s a good child,” Jane said.
“Aye, she is.”
Jane shifted on her feet, then blurted out some words. “There is talk of you and a soldier.”
“And what is being said?”
“That he is a stranger, and you are disgracing your husband’s name.”
“Could Cedric Charlton be one of the talkers?”
“Aye, but he has others talking as well.”
“The Charlton gave me permission to care for him.”
“The talk is he is well enough to leave.”
“Nay,” she said, probably louder than necessary. “He is not.”
“I just thought ye should know. Mayhap if I stayed with ye and help cared for him . . .”
“That is a generous offer,” Kimbra said, “but he will be leaving soon.”
Jane’s gaze did not leave hers. “The talk is he is a Howard.”
“Aye, but he’s been away for years. I think he has little connection with the family.”
Jane continued to stand there, and Kimbra realized she wanted to see the soldier in question.
Kimbra knew Jane would never betray her, and better now than ever to discover whether her Scot could pass as an Englishman.
“Come inside and see for yourself,” she said.
Jane hesitated as if she realized her thoughts were entirely too clear. Jane had always been blunt. Honest. And protective of those she loved.
Kimbra went to the door dividing the two rooms. Once the older woman was settled into a chair, Kimbra knocked twice at the door, then went into the other room.
The Scot sat on the side of the bed.
“My friend Jane Carey is here,” she said. “Jane looks after Audra when I cannot. She wants to meet you.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“You are Robert Howard,” she said softly.
He nodded as he ran his hand through his thick auburn hair, as if trying to tame the untamable. “I am Robert Howard,” he agreed.
“She may ask many questions.”
“I will try to answer them.”
She prayed to Mary in Heaven that he was good at it.
She went back to the door. “Jane, come in.”
In the seconds it took Jane to reach the door, the Scot was in bed, though he had his bandaged arm out from under the covers. There had not been time to prepare, and yet in those few seconds he managed to look truly ill.
He was ill, she reminded herself. But there was something about his will and determination that made him seem far stronger in her mind.
Now she tried to see him through Jane’s eyes.
“Jane,” she said to him, “has offered to help care for you. Jane, this is Robert Howard.”
He focused on Jane and gave her the slow smile that always made Kimbra’s heart shift.
“That is very kind of you,” he said.
Kimbra looked at Jane who was staring down at the Scot with astonishment. Her cheeks went pink, then her stern lips stretched into a smile.
“’Tis not kind at all. Kimbra works far too hard and gives too much to everyone.”
The effort he’d made earlier to walk was thankfully showing. His cheeks were flushed, shadows around his eyes were deep, and his face looked drawn.
Embarrassed by the praise, Kimbra took a step back. “His leg was sorely injured, and his ribs bruised, along with other wounds. He also had a terrible blow to his head.”
“Kimbra knows more about herbs than anyone about here,” Jane said.
“I owe her my life,” he said.
“Then you owe her to leave,” Jane said in her direct way. “She is being hurt by gossip.”
“I will leave immediately.”
“No,” Kimbra said. “I worked too hard to save him. He cannot leave until he is well enough.
” She directed her reply to Jane.
“The Charlton would welcome another soldier,” Jane said. “He could stay there.”
“He knows naught of me,” the Scot said. “Why would he take me in?”
“He is always in need of a fighting man. Ye have enough wounds to prove ye are that.” Jane’s eyes roamed over his bandaged arm.
The Scot’s eyes turned toward Kimbra, then shifted back to Jane. “I will leave here tomorrow.”
Kimbra felt a squeezing hurt. He seemed far too willing to leave and take up arms again.
She told herself it was for the best. Once he left, no blame could come to her and Audra if anyone discovered he was a Scot. He would be under another’s roof, and she would still have the crest.
The cottage would seem empty again. A surge of loneliness, of loss, swept over her with unexpected strength and poignancy.
But it was Audra who voiced her dismay. “I do not want you to go,” she said.
Kimbra turned around to see her daughter standing in the door, her mouth puckered in unusual defiance.
“I have to go soon, anyway, Miss Audra,” the Scot answered. “I have imposed on you and your mother far too long. I am eating your food and taking your father’s clothing, and using your room.”
“Bear wants you to stay,” Audra persisted.
Jane looked from Audra to the Scot with disbelief, and Kimbra suspected what she was thinking.
Audra had always been an obedient child and had been more at ease with animals than people. Part of it had been Kimbra’s doing. She had protected her daughter, never wanting her to know the fear she and her mother had once known. Now her daughter was protecting a stranger with the same passion she had for Magnus and Bess and Bear.
“I thank you and Bear,” the Scot said in a voice soft with longing. “But it is time for me to go.” He looked at Jane. “You can tell those who have interest in my whereabouts that I will move to the peel tower if the Charlton will permit it.”
Jane looked both relieved and puzzled. Kimbra feared that though the Scot had caught some of the border inflection, he was far more well spoken than most.
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