“You suffered a terrible shock today.”
“You saw it too,” Tara answered quietly. “So where is your bath?”
“It is different for me,” the maid answered. “I am not betrothed to Hugh.”
Anna referred, of course, to the shameful thing Hugh had done. Tara’s betrothed. It had replayed in her mind all day, until she felt ill from it. She could never marry a man who attacked his own half-brother when his back was turned. She had never witnessed such cowardice and in truth he had dishonored her beyond forgiveness, being that they were betrothed.
But they weren’t betrothed. Not in her heart. She would never consent.
And Magnus …
As much as she had cautioned herself not to care for him, not to form an attachment to a man she would perhaps never see again after leaving this place … when she had seen the blood fall from the wound in his side, and spill down to stain his plaid, she had nearly fainted out of fear that he would die.
She could deny her feelings for him no more. Yes, they’d formed quickly, but without a doubt, they were real.
She had sent Anna out into the castle to confirm the wound had been tended to and that he lived, but concern for him had left Tara in a state of agitation for the rest of the day. It was not only the wound!
How he must feel. His own half-brother had tried to kill him, in full view of everyone, in the most cowardly of ways. Her heart hurt for him. She had not even been able to see him at the evening meal, as Lady Alwyn still felt unwell, and they had supped in the tower. Had he even been well enough to attend? She wanted nothing more than to see him.
Even now, she did not know how she would sleep. She wouldn’t sleep. As soon as her door was locked for the night, and she was left alone, she would descend the secret passageway in hopes he might be waiting for her below. Hours earlier, when she’d been left alone to rest, she had even dared to leave the bars unlocked for him. She just needed to hear words from his lips, to know he was all right.
Mary appeared then, at the door. “Anna, can you help me with the lady?”
Anna hesitated, looking toward Tara.
“I can tend to myself, Anna. Actually, I prefer to do so. Thank you.”
Mary withdrew and her footsteps faded.
“Thank you, Mistress,” Anna answered. “The lady continues to feel so poorly. I’ll return shortly.”
The girl turned, her hand on the door … but then paused and looked back.
“Yes, Anna,” she said quietly. “I will be here when you return.”
Anna exhaled, appearing reassured. “I’ll pull this closed, so you won’t feel the draft.”
She sighed, grateful to be alone at last. It had been difficult, concealing the true depth of her concern for Magnus all this time, pretending that the only reason for her tears was her disappointment with Hugh’s character. She wanted to be alone, and think about Magnus without worrying everyone would read her feelings on her face.
Now alone, Tara undressed beside the fire, and shivering … sank into the bath.
There were also decisions she must make. She now had her necklace. She had a key. She must think about what to do from here. Was it possible that Magnus would leave this place, and start a new life with her far away from here?
What foolishness was this—these wild, reckless thoughts arising inside her mind? They had spent only moments alone in one another’s company. Shared only one brief kiss. And she was ready to run away with him? Her mind said no. But her heart … her heart demanded otherwise. There was something about the darkness of Castle Burnbryde. The danger to not only her life, but his, that magnified … clarified her feelings for him. Aye, the feelings were new, but they were real and powerful, and when she’d feared he’d been harmed … that she might lose him forever, her soul had grieved to a degree that stunned her.
She would not lose him again. She would claim him—and his warrior’s heart—if she could, and take whatever happiness she could from this life, rather than allow it to slip through her fingers. But did he feel the same?
She did not know. Perhaps despite his dislike for Hugh, too much blood, too much clan loyalty bound him here, and she must prepare herself for that. With or without him, she would leave this place.
An escape, alone, would be no simple child’s game. There was danger everywhere, for a woman alone, traveling without protection and she would not simply jump from one perilous situation into another under the pretense of being free. She could not simply run headlong into the night, and offer her necklace to the first stranger with a wagon or horse that she came upon, in exchange for whisking her away from here. That lack of caution would just as likely bring about another theft of the necklace—or even her murder, rather than her escape.
She must find someone to trust, and that might take days. If not Magnus, then the traveling whitesmith, perhaps. He had seemed kind enough, and trustworthy. No formal introduction had been made, so he did not know anything about who she was. If she could find him again, and convince him to take her away from Burnbryde inside his traveling wagon of wares, certainly he would know others who could be trusted to take her even farther away.
A few days, in which to make preparations … she could survive that. She had to. In that time, she would press to find out the truth of what had happened to Arabel, because without knowing, she would never truly be free.
The water, though thoroughly heated, did nothing to warm the chill in her heart. She sipped the wine, and eased back, her hair falling over the high edge of the tub, savoring the intoxicating, numbing sensation that crept through her veins. Again, she saw Magnus’s face in her mind. Remembered the night before, and being held in his arms and comforted with such gentle care. How he’d looked standing over Hugh today—like a conqueror. The way the men had gathered around him afterward, because he was their champion, their leader, all but shunning Hugh.
The thoughts awakened a fever in her blood, and what the water could not warm, thoughts of Magnus did. She ached for him, body and soul. Wished he was here with her now, so that he could hold and kiss her again, this time without bars separating them.
It was then she heard it … the quiet opening of the secret door behind her. Or had it only been a fantasy created of her own mind?
“Tara,” he said, his voice ragged.
Footsteps. The sound of him kneeling behind her.
She felt two hands sink into her hair, lifting it. He inhaled, and she knew he buried his face in the long, curling mass.
“Forgive me for coming here,” he rasped. “I know it is wrong, but when I found the bars unlocked, I thought you were gone. Fled. That you were out there somewhere, unsafe and unprotected. That I would never find you again.”
Her heart—her lungs, expanded with relief, that he was safe and well, and pleasure that he had come to her.
He dared much. She was naked, in her bath. The door was unlocked and Anna could return at any moment. Her skin flushed hot, and her heart raced, knowing everything about their meeting like this was forbidden. Each moment they passed together meant danger. She did not care. This stranger had, like a strike of lightning, taken possession of her heart and soul. He was here, and she did not want him to go. Her breasts swelled with excitement, nipples tightening, and she crossed her arms over herself in modesty.
His arm came round, cradling her head from behind.
“I needed to see you,” he murmured, his voice deep, and harsh. His warm lips pressed fervent kisses to her cheek … her jaw … her neck … leaving her more drunk than any wine. “To thank you for saving my life.”
Pleasure rushed through her, like a tidal wave. Her emotions, which had been snarled—a tight tangle in her chest all day—released.
“I thought he would kill you,” she answered all in a rush, through tears.
“Never,” he said softly—so softly she hardly heard the words.
He shifted, coming round on his knee, the other leg extended in half a crouch, wearing an open throated tunic a
nd a plaid at his waist, blocking the firelight with his broad shoulders, casting them both into shadows. In the flickering shadow and light, his countenance was drawn and stark.
“You found the key.”
“Anna gave it to me.”
“Then you’re a free woman now,” he said, his gaze glittering.
“I am.”
He caught her face, his palms and fingers caging her jaw and cheeks, strong and sure, and he kissed her in a way that said power and possession and care.
“I’ll get you out of here, then. As soon as I know I can do so safely.”
He kissed her again, the urgency of his lips conveying his hunger. As if he could not stop. Deep inside, she felt an awakening. A rush of emotion and sensations that overpowered all caution … all rational sense. She moaned into his mouth, her arms going around his shoulders, streaming water … and felt him tremble. She trembled too.
He broke away, murmuring near her ear. “I want you to be free and safe, but God, Tara—at the same time, I don’t want to let y’ go.”
“Then come with me,” she whispered, clinging to him. Drawing back, he went completely still, staring into her eyes, one hand cradling her head, the other gripping her shoulder.
The words … the confession of her feelings startled even her, but she did not regret saying them and would not take them back.
Distantly, she heard footsteps. Her heart started in fear—
Already he stood, eyes dark and passion-filled—backing between the bed frame and the stone wall, to stand concealed by the long curtains and dark shadows.
Her blood pounding, she strove to clear all emotion—all passion from her face.
“Here we are.” Anna entered, carrying a small basket of folded linens. Mary followed her, and went directly to her trunk, where she selected a night rail.
“I beg your forgiveness for not returning before now,” Anna said, setting the linen on the table, and taking the topmost one in hand. “The water must be cooling by now. Let’s get you out and dry before you catch a chill.”
She unfurled a swath of linen and held it wide, and waited for Tara to stand.
In the darkness, she saw Magnus. Just the barest, almost imperceptible outline of his shoulder, and above that, the angular cut of his jaw. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her heart beat wildly. Perhaps she dared too much. Perhaps it was wrong … perhaps it was a sin, but she wanted him there. She wanted him to see that there would be nothing hidden between them. That she would hold nothing back. She had seen more of a hero in him, in this short span of time, than any other man she’d ever known—and her heart refused to let him go.
Placing her hands on the rim of the tub, she exhaled through parted lips … and stood.
*
Magnus stood in the shadows, unable to tear his gaze away, unable to breathe, as water sluiced down Tara’s skin, the firelight painting her gold like some ancient river goddess.
He had known her body would be beautiful. He had felt her soft curves pressed against him when he’d kissed her, glimpsed her tempting loveliness hidden by her night rail the night before.
But seeing her now, the full magnitude of her perfection bared to his gaze, caused his blood to catch fire and his sex to stiffen with such suddenness, he gasped from the pain. A most exquisite pain, that shattered him, all the way to his soul, for it was not mere desire he felt for Tara, but something far deeper.
Thankfully the fire shifted and cracked at that moment, so his spontaneous exhalation went unheard.
Her attendants circled her—one buffing her skin with the linen, while the other poured oil from a small pitcher, and rubbed it over her shoulders, arms, and back as Tara stood, her lips parted and her shoulders back.
She knew that he was there … that he watched, and yet she did not attempt to hide herself with her hands, or snatch at the linen to cover herself.
Instead, her stare fixed on the secret place where he stood as she stepped from the tub, and lifted her arms above her head. His hungry gaze devoured her full, high breasts, with their small, pink nipples … a smooth torso that descended to a pinched waist … her gleaming hips, thighs, and the shadowed place between her legs.
His scalp tightened, and his palms burned. Desire surged through him, rampant and all consuming. His hand gripped the wooden column of the bed post. Arousal clouded his mind so thickly he feared no danger. Suffered no concern for future regrets. There was only her, and a consuming need to claim her for his own, not just for this one night, but forever.
His cock hung heavy and tight, jutting agonizingly against the wool of his plaid. One maid lifted the gown above Tara’s head, and slipping it onto her arms, let the linen fall, covering her.
She was no less lovely for it. Her nipples tantalized against the soft bodice. The other maid pulled her hair from under the neck of her gown and combed the long tresses so that they shone like copper fire, before fashioning one long braid that hung down her back.
The attendants—hell, he did not even know what they looked like, so rapt was his attention on Tara—set about tidying the area of the bath, and at a word, two more female servants appeared and lugged the tub away, sloshing between them. Tara’s garments were returned to their trunk. Then, at last, there was only one maid—who paused on the threshold.
“Be sure to lock the door,” she announced. “Lady Alwyn continues to insist.”
His heartbeat hitched faster.
“I will,” Tara answered in a whisper, moving to stand at the corner of the bed. “Good night.”
The door closed. Tara took several steps, and took up a key from the table, she moved forward, and turned the key in the lock. Footsteps on the other side, faded into the distance.
He approached her from behind, every muscle alive and tight, his breaths weighted by the grave import of the moment, which seemed to unfold like a dream.
“I told you I wouldn’t kiss you again until you were free. And one moment in your company, and I’ve already broken that vow.”
“I have the key to the tower window,” she whispered. “Does that not make me free?”
Tara … did not move. She stood, with her shoulders straight … awaiting his touch.
Her hair had, from the first moment he’d seen it, enchanted him. He tugged the cord from the end of her braid, and slowly, from the bottom up, freed the rippling, silken mass from its confines, allowing it to slip across his fingertips, his palms. Scoring his fingers through, he grazed his nails against her scalp, lifting the soft curls high. Tara sighed and tilted her head, welcoming his touch.
Hungry for her, he pressed his open mouth against the curve of her neck, tasting her skin with his tongue, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of the scented oil into his nostrils, floral … sensual … woman.
“Come with me, Magnus,” she whispered. “Leave this place with me. Please say yes. I choose you.”
His soul shook at the import of her words.
“Yes,” he answered. “I will.”
After he had his revenge.
She pressed her back to him, sighing in surrender.
“I want to make love to you,” he murmured, his voice raspy with passion. “I need to make love to you.”
It was no lie. Considering the state of his arousal, he thought he just might die if he didn’t, and now, more than ever, he wanted to live. He wanted to live for himself and Tara, and the future they could have together.
“Yes,” she answered, growing still in his arms. “I want that too.”
“You’ll be mine,” he murmured near her ear.
They were not simple words of seduction, spoken without meaning. They were a promise, solemnly made. She would never be Hugh’s. He would do anything to protect her, from this moment on. She belonged to him.
“And you will be mine,” she answered, reaching back to touch his face, to graze her knuckles, her palm, against his beard roughened jaw.
He took pleasure in her words, and he felt no regret, no shame for what
he did, because it felt right. Turning her, holding her within the tight band of his arm, he kissed her mouth, voracious, taking her deeply with his tongue.
His woman. Only his. Forever.
From behind he slipped his arms around her waist, one coming upward and crosswise so that his hand might cage the full softness of her breast. She gasped, her hands fisting in his plaid at his thighs, her nipple jutting against his palm. Spreading his hand wide, he grazed her there, in a slow, circular caress, teasing … awakening her body and submitting himself to the most exquisite torment he had ever known.
God, she was an enchantment. So slight and feminine compared to his brutish size. Desire, instinctive and primal, blurred all rational thought. Hooking his thumb into the neck of her shift, he tugged the linen down, kissing her neck again, nuzzling the place behind her ear, while drinking in the sight of her bare breast, plump and pink-tipped, in his hand.
He urged her backward, against the bed post, his hands sliding up the sides of her torso. He bent, catching her tight nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. She moaned, smoothing her hands over his head, into his hair.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Ever touched. I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against her skin. “I want to see you. I want to taste you. All of you.”
“Magnus,” she whispered, moving restlessly, shifting her thighs together.
Her gown hung from her hips. He pushed it lower so that it dropped with a whisper to the floor, and she stood naked. Her movements equally urgent, she pushed his tunic up, sliding her hands over his skin, grazing his stitched wound. He hissed—not from pain, but from pleasure—and wrenched the garment over his head and tossed it aside.
She leaned forward, hazy eyed, and pressed her mouth against the skin of his collarbone, but drawing back to look again at the place where Hugh’s craven sword had split his skin. Her fingertips brushed near, and a quavering breath left her lips.
“Tell me what to do,” she said.
Chapter 10
He gripped her slender wrists, breathing hard—reminding himself he must take care. “What do you know of a man’s body? Of a man’s desire?”
The Rebel of Clan Kincaid Page 18