“Aye. I’m sorry to say that I am.” He rolled onto his back and put a hand up to his aching head, but then dropped it at once, realizing that the two of them were holding their heads in mirror images of each other.
She pulled herself to her feet and moved quickly to his side. His eyes were clear and he looked far better than he had the night before. Even the swelling in his face appeared to be subsiding. But still, the paleness of his skin—where it wasn’t ghastly shades of purple and yellowish green from the beatings and the sea battle—and the dark lines beneath his eyes all bespoke his pain. She tried to place a hand on his brow, but he pushed it away roughly, before she could check his fever.
“Get away from me, wench, before I wrap my fingers around your throat.”
“Try, if you can,” Jaime challenged, pushing his hand away and planting her palm firmly on his brow. “Aye, no fever. But quite weak.”
Drawing the blanket down, she looked carefully at his wounds, gave a satisfied nod, then covered his chest again. He hadn’t bled from the chest wound in almost a full day, and only a small gash by his hip was oozing at all. Moving away from him, she started to fetch what she needed to clean the wound once more.
“Where are all your beloved English masters?” Malcolm asked, letting his eyes appraise her retreating figure. Then, as she turned, his gaze roamed the room. “Don’t tell me that these dolts are stupid enough to leave me here without a guard?”
Jaime came back to the side of the bed and placed her supplies next to him. “You’ve been too weak to so much as lift a finger,” she answered. “You don’t think they fear your escaping?”
The sight of all her implements flying to the floor brought Jaime's eyes darting back to his.
“You insufferable, ill-tempered, Highland pig.” she bent down and started to gather the remnants. “And to think that last night...”
Malcolm lifted the blanket off his body and tried to lower his legs over the other side of the bed. But even the struggle of pushing himself up, weak as the effort was, the Highlander found to be too much. And as his strength drained out of him, a thousand pains cut sharply through his shoulder and chest. A wave of nausea and dizziness swept over him, and his head threatened to burst as he teetered for an instant on the flashing yellow edge of unconsciousness.
“Nay, you bullheaded fool,” Jaime cried, jumping to her feet and drawing him back down. “You’ve caused me too much trouble as it is. I don’t need your carcass sprawled on the floor, now do I?”
“I don’t need any help,” Malcolm growled as he let her lower him back down on the sheets. “Least of all, yours.”
Jaime’s one arm encircled his shoulders, his face lay against her cheek, his lips almost touching the soft wool of her dress. The smell of lavender touched his senses. The softness of her skin brushed against his battered temple. Abruptly, Malcolm jerked his head away and turned his face from her.
“Behave yourself, Malcolm,” she said sternly, ignoring his ill-humor as she lay his head back on the bed. “There is no purpose served in you getting out of this bed before your wounds are healed. You are far too weak and a long way from being ready.”
“Don’t talk to me as if I am your bairn, you foul backstabbing wench,” he snapped, his eyes flashing as he wrapped his fingers as tightly as he could around her wrist. “Do you think I don’t understand this game? You want me to live for your dirty, English lover. You and I both know that my corpse won’t bring him much of a prize.”
“Think that as you will, you savage boor,” she retorted, easily wrenching her hand free. If he wanted to think her a wench, so be it. “But you will get better while you are under my care—no matter what you think my motives might be.”
“Your motives require no deep thinking to figure, lass. They are as clear as the path to hell.”
“Only in your disgusting mind,” Jaime snapped. “Only a blind man—nay, only you—would spurn what I’ve done for you. I should have let you rot in that prison. I should have closed my eyes and turned away...and pictured you dead. Aye. Dead. As I have pictured you every day since I saw you last.”
Malcolm raised his head to answer, but she shoved him back down roughly, making him gasp in pain and clutch at the wound in his chest. She averted her eyes from his face as she held him down, trying to keep out the memory of Malcolm’s wedding day, trying to hold back the flood of hurt he’d caused her. His sharp words had drawn blood from wounds that she’d hoped were healed, wounds she now knew had barely scabbed over.
Damn this man, she thought. She was here to help bring him back to health, not to allow him to wreck her and leave her in misery. Taking in a deep breath, Jaime checked her temper and turned her attention back to his wounds.
“Now look at what you’ve done, you stubborn ape,” Jaime whispered, watching a thin, broken line of blood begin to soak through the dressing on his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, she clasped a hand gently over it. “I’ll gag you if I must, Malcolm MacLeod. And, believe me, silence would be by far preferable to any more of your discontented carping.”
She raised her hand ever so slowly from his lips and looked into his dark and sullen eyes. Quite to her surprise the Highlander remained silent, his eyes taking in her every move as she backed away from the bed. Vaguely unsettled by his stare, Jaime averted her eyes.
“I have to change these dressings,” she said quickly.
“Where is the physician?” Malcolm asked shortly. “The Welshman who sewed me up?”
“He left for Cambridge three days ago,” Jaime answered as she started to spread the clean dressings beside him. “Master Graves takes the uncommon view that a wound loosely bandaged heals faster.”
Malcolm grunted at the idea, and tried to turn slightly away from her.
“I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t fight me with this.”
“Doesn’t the man have an apprentice?” he responded, allowing her to untie the strip that circled his chest.
Jaime brightened a bit. Malcolm seemed to have submitted to her unspoken request for truce. “He has a man Davie, but he had to accompany Graves.”
“Three days he’s been gone?” Malcolm’s head sank back wearily. “Have I slept away three full days?”
“Slept? Ha! Unconscious, you were!” Jaime answered, pulling the bloodied linen away from his skin. Keeping her eyes on her job, she tried to ignore the weight of his stare on her. “And as helpless with fever as a bairn.”
“Have you been here all the while?”
The slight note of gentleness in his voice made Jaime raise her head and look into his eyes. As if caught, he quickly turned his face away with a darkening frown. A silence filled the space between them, but Jaime knew it would be short-lived. She could almost see his mind churning in a search for words to insult her.
“Do you think I haven’t better things to be doing?” she lied, breaking the peace. “I’ve only looked in once or twice.”
“Then why do I recall no one else tending me? Why were you sleeping in that chair just now?”
Jaime colored, muttering weakly, “I already said you’ve been out of your head with fever.” She could feel Malcolm’s gaze upon her for a long moment.
“‘Tis surprising, lass, how poor a liar you are.”
“I think your fever must be coming on again.”
“But why are you so desperate,” he said, ignoring her words, “to present me, whole, to your lover upon his return? Why go so far to keep me alive? It seems to me, you’re too damned eager to please him.”
She continued with her task, dabbing gently at his wound. In spite of the beads of blood seeping through, Malcolm seemed to be healing well. Far too well.
“There are other ways of pleasing him, you know, ways much more appealing to a man who has been away from a woman.” Malcolm’s fingers moved and softly caressed her exposed forearm. The immediate shiver that traveled up the skin of her arm didn’t go unnoticed by him. “But I suppose by now you must be an expert.”
&n
bsp; Her hand jabbed hard into his wound, harder than she’d intended. Seeing Malcolm grimace with pain, Jaime backed away slightly.
“Wench!” he swore as the wave subsided.
Jaime only gave him a sweet smile and returned to the dressings. Like a summer storm gathering power, his dark mood charged the air in the room, and Jaime waited for the next onslaught. But, meanwhile, she worked with quick hands and hoped her maid Caddy would arrive soon. That was the way it had been the day before. Upon awakening, Mary had sent Caddy after her truant cousin. And Jaime, in turn, had sweet-talked the slight, middle-aged woman into staying with Malcolm until she herself could again return to the surgery.
Jaime thought back over the past few days. The first night after Graves had left for Cambridge, she had been determined to stay away from the surgery. But that had turned out to be mere foolishness, since she’d spent most of the night going back and forth between her bedchamber and Malcolm’s sickbed. She was certain she’d brought more attention to herself than if she’d simply stayed beside him. But she hadn’t intended to remain here either of the two previous nights.
“If you’ll promise to just lie on your back, I won’t retie that strip for now,” she said, finishing up the dressing on his chest.
Malcolm grunted and she eyed the bloody wrap just above his hip. She feared that the wound might be festering, and she glanced up at his face. Seeing the wry look he wore, a blush crept into her cheeks. It would be quite uncomfortable changing that dressing while his watchful eyes smirked at her every move. She jumped when he spoke.
“I am certain there is nothing beneath these covers that you haven’t seen before, is there?”
“Of course not!” she answered tartly, blushing even more fiercely than before.
A gentle knock at the door brought her quickly to her feet. Giving a soft command to enter, Jaime watched as her maid quietly pushed the door open and limped into the room. Caddy looked hesitantly at the conscious prisoner and then at her mistress. Handing the unused dressings over to the maid, Jaime turned back to Malcolm. He had a look of surprise on his face . “I’ll leave you in Caddy’s care, for now. But I expect you to treat her with respect. Do you hear?”
A smile of amusement wrinkled the corners of Malcolm’s eyes. “Are you telling me that these foolhardy English dogs think me so weak that they will entrust me to this wee woman? On her own?”
“Trusting?” She scoffed in a hushed voice. “Hardly. There are more than enough men outside guarding these doors. And I’m quite certain that any one of them would be more than pleased to finish the job their master started aboard that French ship.”
Jaime pulled the sheet up to Malcolm’s chin, tucking him as if he were a bairn. “Stay right here for the wee time it’ll take to regain your strength. You’ll have ample time to show us your foolhardiness once you’ve healed.”
Chapter 12
As the velvet of the dress pulled off her shoulder, her breasts sprang free of the low neckline, and the knight fastened his lips to first one nipple, and then the other.
Her moans were deep-throated, resonant with desire, as she pulled at his hair with long, white fingers.
“Take me,” she commanded, yanking his head back and looking at him with eyes clouded with lust. “Take me now.”
“You’re a fool,” he growled, pushing himself to his feet, his hands never leaving off of fondling her breasts. The knight looked down at her moist lips, swollen from his rough kisses. He knew he could not resist. “You heard the horns as well as I. The hunting party will...”
“Then stop talking,” she ordered huskily, leaning forward and pulling at the laces that held his codpiece in place. “I’ve waited too long...”
His manhood, thick and hard, emerged from its confines, and a tremble raced visibly through her as she took it in her hands, stroking its length. The sound of horns again came through the open window, this time they were only an arrowshot from the palace.
Catherine stood, a daredevil look flashing into her eyes. “Come, my buck,” she enticed, pulling off her starched linen cap and tossing back her hair.
He dug his hands roughly into her waist and turned her around, forcing her face and her exposed breasts down onto the billowing mattress. Taking fistfuls of material in his hands, he pulled the dress up, exposing her ivory legs and heart-shaped buttocks. With a laugh, she tried to squirm around and face him, but he wouldn’t let her. With one strong hand he pushed her forward onto the high, curtained bed, and with the other he tore away her linen underclothes. Then he stepped between her legs.
Catherine was ready for him, wet. She was always ready, it seemed. Parting the folds of her womanhood with the tip of his shaft, he felt the flush in his face and instantly gave way to the primal animal urge that blocked out all thought, obliterated all reason, all judgment. He drove into her with a single powerful thrust, exulting in the gasping cry that emitted from her lips.
Holding himself perfectly still, the knight clenched his jaw, waiting as she began to writhe beneath him, her hips undulating as she sheathed him. He reached forward with both hands, taking her golden brown hair in both hands and pulling her head back and turning it until he could see her heavy-lidded eyes, her mouth partially open, the tip of her tongue visible between her full lips.
With excruciating slowness, he slid backward, pausing for only a moment before driving again into her. Again he withdrew and again he plunged, his quickening pace matched by the writhing motions of her hips. Faster and faster he thrust, her cries growing in volume and pitch. But he could no longer hear her. Aware only of the pulsing rhythm in his head and the blinding desire to bury himself deeply within her, the knight rode her—holding her hair like a mane and thrusting again and again—until, with a mighty shudder, his body arched and he released his seed into her.
In a few moments, the knight—still breathing heavily from his exertion—began to extricate himself. As he stood up, he immediately laced his codpiece, and gazed down at the voluptuous beauty, who rolled lazily onto her back. One of Catherine’s hands lay on her chest and as he watched, her fingers sensuously traced the curves of her exposed breast. Her mouth was set in a half smile that conveyed a hint of mockery. He’d seen that look many times before and felt his lips curl into a similar look. The sound of horses and shouting could be heard outside the palace gate, and the knight nodded his head at the window.
“You’d best make yourself presentable for the king, my sweet slut.”
“Don’t you find me presentable now, my buck?” she asked alluringly, her finger circling her erect nipple.
“Aye, for me, you are. But I don’t know that the old boar’s heart will hold out, if you don’t take some care.” The knight turned and headed for the door.
“I know how to manage him,” Catherine called softly, rising slightly as he pulled open the thick oak door. He paused to cast one last look back at her. Her face was wearing the same mocking smile. “But, Edward, do try to ride ahead of the party a bit earlier tomorrow.”
“You are being unfaithful and you know it.”
Jaime rolled her eyes and gestured helplessly with her hands as she paced the room. “Unfaithful to whom, Mary?”
“You know who as well as I, Jaime Macpherson. To Edward.”
Jaime made an elaborate show of choking back her laughter, trying to make her cousin’s words seem ridiculous. But Mary simply stood with her hands on her hips and frowned.
Jaime decided that Mary was not about to be laughed off. “Then perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what I have done that could possibly be construed as unfaithful?”
“Very well! Where have you spent the past two nights? I’ll tell you. You’ve spent them—two full nights—in that man’s room. And that was only after wearing a path to the surgery every hour the first night Edward was gone. Just how do you think Edward would feel—how do you expect anyone in the family to feel—when his beloved, his intended, will happily spend the night in another man’s room, but resolut
ely avoids spending so much as a moment alone in his company? Have you thought of Edward’s feelings, Jaime? He is a sweet, loving man—heartsick at having to leave you—and yet you...you...”
Jaime pressed her hands to her temples and gazed in wide-eyed disbelief at the younger woman’s expression of righteous anger on her cousin’s behalf. If it wasn’t bad enough that she’d had nothing better than a hard chair for a bed these past three nights, that she’d barely been able to close her eyes for more than a few moments—now, to come back to her room and be subjected to this! She shook her aching head incredulously. “Mary, I find it terribly difficult to believe you feel this way. You aren’t serious, are you?” Seeing no change in her cousin’s demeanor, Jaime approached her. “Please tell me this is all in jest.”
“Nay, Jaime. I am totally in earnest in my feelings on this!” she answered. “What you have been doing is extremely inappropriate—considering Edward’s intentions regarding you. And since I am the only one who has been witness to behavior entirely unbefitting your situation, I see no alternative...”
“You see not alternative to what, Mary?” Jaime asked, a note of challenge creeping into her tone. “Do you intend to run to Edward and inform him of my...inappropriate behavior?”
Mary’s eyes flickered away for a moment. “You don’t understand the Howards, Jaime. In this family, well, such misdeeds...”
Jaime’s fists tightened at her sides as her anger welled up in her chest. “Misdeeds? You call caring for a dying man a ‘misdeed’? You consider helping another ‘inappropriate’? Is having a heart and showing compassion wrong in this family? Mary Howard, if you believe this, you are the most closed-minded, ill-begotten, young woman I have ever known!”
“Nay, Jaime...”
“To think for over a year now I’ve considered you a confidante, a friend...a sister!” Jaime stepped back. “How could I have been so blind? If you truly feel this way, Mary, then I want to see your face no longer. Go and tell him, cousin. Go and proclaim all of these faults you see in me. Because if Edward Howard feels the same as you...”
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