“First Drustan thinks I’m crazy,” Gwen interrupted glumly, “now you think I’m a spy.”
“—or, in the future, lasses are better educated. If you permit a man to finish, m’dear, you’ll see that I was merely pointing out possibilities. They are endless. Time will have out. I am interested in your heart, not your words.”
“You have no idea how nice it is to hear someone say that.”
One silvery brow rose.
“Until I met your son, Silvan, I wasn’t even certain I had a heart. Now I know I do, and that bonehead is going to marry someone he’s never even met. She’s never going to be as right for him as I am.”
“Bonehead,” he repeated, smiling faintly. His other brow rose. “You told me you didn’t wish me to make him wed you,” he said softly.
“I don’t want you to make him. I want him to want to. I’m telling you, we’re perfect for each other. He just doesn’t remember that. If my story is true,” she added archly, “I could be carrying your grandson. Have you thought of that, O wise one?”
Silvan burst out laughing. He laughed so long and loudly that Nell poked her head out, with a smile herself, to see what was going on.
When he finally stopped, he patted Gwen’s hand. “None but Drustan has ever called me that in such a tone. Irreverent you are, clever and bold. Aye, Gwen Cassidy, I’ll give him a nudge or two in your direction. I’d planned to anyway.”
Gwen tucked her bangs behind her ears and smiled at him. “Again?” she asked.
As they began resetting the pieces, Nell came out on the terrace, depositing two mugs of warm ale.
“Join us, Nell,” Silvan said. Nell glanced dubiously at Silvan, until Gwen patted the seat beside her.
For the next few hours, Gwen watched Silvan and Nell in what she was certain had become a longtime ritual: his head turned, hers wouldn’t. Her head turned, his stayed down. They managed to look at each other only if the other wasn’t looking. Not once did the older couple make direct eye contact. Somehow they were so attuned that Silvan could sense when Nell’s gaze had wandered up to watch a golden eagle soar beyond the castle, and Nell could sense when Silvan was so intent upon the game that he’d not notice her watching him.
It was amazing, really, Gwen realized. They were so in love with each other, and neither of them knew it.
Maybe her own life was unraveling at the seams, but surely she could do something to bring those two together.
When the sun had nearly completed its lazy crawl across the sky, smearing streaks of rose and liquid gold across the horizon, Nell pushed herself up and went off to prepare the evening meal.
She cast a glance over her shoulder at Gwen and made a fluffing motion to her bodice. “Dinna be forgettin’ to dress for dinner,” she said with a wink. “He never misses a meal, and I made his favorite this eve—roast suckling pig, neeps, and tatties.”
Oh, she’d dress, all right.
But Drustan didn’t come to dinner that night.
As a matter of fact, the stubborn man managed to hide from her for nearly a week.
19
Chaos had stormed his castle, dressed in lusciously low-cut gowns, silky slippers, and ribbons, Drustan brooded, raking his hair back and tying it with a leather thong.
None of his fortress’s defenses were useful against her, unless he wished to declare open warfare, mount up the guards, and dust off the catapult.
At which point, of course, his da and Nell would laugh themselves silly.
He’d been avoiding her since the day he’d taken her to Balanoch.
The next time he touched her, he’d tup her. He knew that. He fisted his hands at his sides, inhaling sharply.
His only recourse was to avoid her completely until Dageus returned with Anya. When Dageus confirmed that no such battle had occurred, he would have her removed from his castle and sent far away.
How far will be far enough? a most unwelcome voice asked. He knew that voice well. It was the one that endeavored daily to convince him that he had every right to take her to his bed.
A most dangerous, frighteningly persuasive voice.
He groaned and closed his eyes. He enjoyed a blissful moment’s respite, until her laughter, lifted by the buoyant summer breeze, soared through the open window of his chamber.
Eyes narrowed, he peered out, both dreading and anticipating what gown she might have donned today. Would it be purple, violet, indigo, lavender? It was almost as if she knew of his preference for the vibrant color. And with her golden hair, she looked splendid in it.
This morn she wore sheer mauve with a golden girdle. No surcoat, in deference to the sunny weather. Succulent, creamy breasts rose from the simple scooped neck. She’d piled her blond tresses atop her head and, threaded with violet ribbons, it tumbled in delightful disarray about her face. She sauntered across his lawn, as if all his estate belonged to her.
For the past week she’d been everywhere he’d wanted to be, driving him to seek seclusion wherever it could be found. He’d ducked into chambers in the castle he’d forgotten even existed.
She hadn’t bothered to be subtle about it. The moment she saw him, she chased about after him wearing a ferocious scowl, jabbering away about “things” she had to tell him.
Daily her tactics grew more sly and underhanded. Last night the audacious wench had picked the lock to his chamber! Because he’d had the foresight to barricade the door with a heavy armoire, she’d then gone to his door in the corridor and picked that lock. He’d been forced to escape out the window. Halfway down he’d slipped, crashed the last fifteen feet to the ground, and landed in a prickly bush. Since he’d not had time to don his trews, his manly parts had taken the brunt of his abrupt entry into the bush, putting him in a foul mood indeed.
The wench sought to unman him before his long-anticipated wedding night.
His every movement, every thought, every decision was being directly affected by her presence, and he resented it.
Her finger was even in the food he ate in the garrison with the guards, safely away from her, as Nell had begun “experimenting” with new recipes, and he’d like to know what the blethering hell was wrong with the old ones.
And she’d begun learning to ride, had indeed coaxed the stable master to teach her (probably for the cost of a smile with a dimple on one side, for he certainly hadn’t seen her shoveling out the stables). In midafternoon she could be found prancing about on a gentle mare across the front lawn of the estate, impairing his passage. He had to admit, she’d found her seat rather well. Any day now, when he vaulted astride his horse to escape her, she’d follow him.
His life had been so orderly before her arrival. Now his life was ordered about her schedule and how to avoid her. He’d been heading toward certain success, all the things he’d longed for. Just the day before she’d appeared on their doorstep, he’d been dreaming of holding his first son in his arms within the year, God willing that young Anya would catch a babe so quickly.
But now he dreamed of her. This morn, when he’d sneaked into his chamber for a change of clothing, he’d heard the splash of her bath. He’d paced from hearth to window and back again, convinced she was splashing far more than necessary just to force him to think of rosy breasts and thighs and silken gold hair, misted with glistening beads of water.
Drustan stared out the window, scowling. She was driving him mad. How could so wee a wench create such havoc with his senses?
Last night, after he’d fallen out his own window, he’d tried to catch a short nap in the hall. A short time later, she’d wandered down. There he’d been sitting, feet propped up, staring with heavy-lidded eyes into the fire, seeing golden tresses in the flames, when he’d caught a whiff of her unique scent and turned to see her standing on the stairs.
Clad only in a diaphanous night rail.
Drustan, you can’t keep avoiding me, she’d said.
Without a word, he’d leaped to his feet and fled the castle. He’d gone to sleep in the stable
s.
The laird of the castle, catching winks in the stables, by Amergin!
But had he stayed within the walls, he would have made short work of her sheer rail, kissed and suckled and devoured every inch of her body.
His traitorous father and Nell weren’t making things any easier. They’d welcomed her into their lives with the enthusiasm of parents who’d finally gotten the daughter they’d longed for. Nell sewed for her, dressing her in luscious creations, Silvan played chess with her on the terrace, and Drustan had no doubt that once Dageus returned he’d like as not set to trying to seduce the lovely witch.
And Drustan would have no right to complain.
He was getting married. If Dageus wanted to seduce the lass, what right had he to argue?
He crashed his fist down on the stone window ledge. A sennight. He had only to avoid her until then. The moment Dageus returned, confirming there’d been no battle, he would pack the lass off to Edinburgh, aye—mayhap England. He’d send her with a flank of guards, finding some excuse to keep his flirtatious brother at home.
Thrumming with frustrated energy, he stomped from his chamber. He would go for another long ride and try to while away yet another eternal day, ticking them off on a calendar in his head: one day nearer salvation.
As he loped down the hall toward the servants’ stairs, he stiffened and spun about. By God, he would not skulk out the back entrance again.
If she was fool enough to try something when he was in such a mood, she would suffer for it.
Drustan rounded the corner at a full charge and crashed abruptly into Nevin.
“Milord!” Nevin gasped, flying backward.
“Sorry.” He grabbed the priest by the elbows and steadied him on his feet.
Nevin smoothed his robes, blinking. “Nay, ’twas my fault. I fear I was lost in thought and didn’t hear your approach. But ’tis grateful I am for our encounter. I was coming to seek you out, if you have a moment. There’s a wee matter I wished to discuss with you.”
Drustan tamped down a flash of impatience, then got angry that he was feeling impatient to begin with. It was her fault. He’d whiled away many a fine hour talking with Nevin and not once suffered impatience; he liked the young priest. He took a deep, calming breath and forced a smile. “Is aught amiss with the chapel?” he asked, the cameo of patient interest.
“Nay. It goes well, milord. We have but to replace the altar stones and seal the new planking. It will be finished in ample time.” Nevin paused. “ ‘Twas a different matter I wished to speak with you about.”
“You needn’t hesitate to speak your mind with me,” Drustan assured him. Nevin seemed reluctant to broach whatever topic was worrying him. Had he seen the bam-pot chasing him about? Was the priest concerned about his upcoming betrothal? God knows, I am, he thought darkly.
“ ‘Tis my mother again….” Nevin trailed off, sighing.
Drustan released a pent breath and relaxed. It was only Besseta.
“She’s been agitated lately, muttering about some danger she thinks I’m in.”
“More of her fortune-telling?” Drustan asked dryly. Was the estate to be overrun with addled women spouting dire predictions?
“Aye,” Nevin said glumly.
“Well, at least now ’tis you she’s worried about. A fortnight past, she was telling Silvan that my brother and I were ‘cloaked in darkness,’ or something of the like. What does she fear will happen to you?”
“ ‘Tis the oddest thing. She seems to think your betrothed will harm me in some fashion.”
“Anya?” Drustan laughed. “She’s but five and ten. And, I’ve heard, a most biddable lass.”
Nevin shook his head with a rueful smile. “Milord, ’tis futile to seek sense in it. My mother is not well. If you should encounter her and she carries on like a madwoman, ’tis because she’s worsening daily. I believe the walk to the castle is beyond her abilities, but should she somehow manage it, I beg you be gentle with her. She’s ill, very ill.”
“I’ll warn Da and Dageus. Doona fash yourself, we’ll simply guide her back home should she roam.” He made a mental note to be kinder to the old woman. He hadn’t realized she was so ill.
“Thank you, milord.”
Drustan started down the corridor again, then stopped and glanced back. He enjoyed Nevin’s philosophical mind and wondered how the priest reconciled a fortune-telling mother with his faith. It might also shed light on his tolerance for the MacKeltar. Drustan knew Nevin had been in residence long enough to have heard most of the rumors by now. Men of the Kirk generally held staunch views on pagan doings, but Nevin radiated some inner understanding that defied Drustan’s comprehension. “Do any of her predictions ever come true?”
Nevin smiled serenely. “If there is aught of truth in her yew castings, ’tis because God chooses to speak in such manner.”
“You doona think pagan and Christian are breached by an irreconcilable chasm?”
Nevin considered his answer a moment. “I know ’tis the common belief, but nay. It offends me not that she reads her sticks; it grieves me that she thinks to change what she sees therein. His Will will be.”
“So has she been right or not?” Drustan pressed. Nevin was oft evasive, difficult to pin down. But Drustan sensed he didn’t intend to be evasive, he was merely nonjudgmental to an extreme.
“If someone is to harm me, ’tis my Father’s will. I shan’t naysay Him.”
“In other words, you won’t tell me.”
Nevin’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Milord, God doesn’t bear any of His creations ill will. He give us opportunities. ’Tis all in the way you view it. My mother has a suspicious mind, so she sees suspicious things. Keep your eyes open, milord, for the chances He gives you. Keep your heart true, and I bid you, use what gifts He may have given you with love, and you will never wander from His grace.”
“What do you mean, ‘gifts’?”
Another calm smile, and some fascinating awareness in Nevin’s clear blue gaze.
Drustan smiled uneasily and wound down the corridors to the Greathall.
Gwen had just walked into the hall and slumped into a chair when he came down.
She nearly fell off her chair, so startled was she to see him walking toward her and not skulking out the back entrance. Her first instinct was to leap up, fling her arms around his leg like a child, and cling so he couldn’t get away from her. But she reconsidered, thinking he might just shake her off him and stomp her, if the expression on his face was a true indication of his feelings about her at the moment. He was awe-inspiringly large.
She decided to try the subtle approach. “Does this mean you’ve finally decided to listen to me, you pigheaded, stubborn Neanderthal?”
He walked past her as if he hadn’t even heard her.
“Drustan!”
“What?” he snapped, spinning around to look at her. “Can’t you leave me in peace? My life was fine, wonderful until you appeared. Flitting about”—his gaze raked over her bountiful curves, nicely fluffed in her gown—“trying to tempt me into making a fankle of my wedding—”
“Flitting? Tempting you? Could you show off your legs more? Walk around with no shirt on a bit more often? Oh, silly me, of course you couldn’t, you’re shirtless all the time.”
Drustan blinked, and she saw the hint of her Drustan’s grin tugging at his lips, but he fought it admirably.
Casually, he adjusted his sporran, hiking his plaid up a bit more. He tossed his silky black hair over his shoulder and arched a dark brow.
Her hormones broke out party streamers and kazoos.
She leaned forward, folding her arms beneath her chest. She felt the edging on her bodice graze her nipple. Two can play that game, Drustan.
His silvery eyes changed instantly. Icy amusement was replaced by untamed lust. For a long, suspended moment, she thought he was going to duck his head, charge her, and carry her up the stairs to a bed.
She held her breath, hoping. If he did, at
least then she might be able to soothe him enough to get him to listen—after, of course, they made love nine million times and her own hormones had been properly soothed.
She peeped at him from beneath her brows, her gaze a blatant challenge. A come-hither-if-you-dare look. She hadn’t known she had it in her. But she was realizing there were a lot of things she hadn’t known she had in her, until she’d met Drustan MacKeltar.
“You know naught what you provoke,” he growled.
“Oh, yes, I do,” she shot right back. “A coward. A man who’s afraid to hear me out because I might prove inconvenient to his plans. I might dishevel his tidy world,” she mocked.
The flicker in his eyes blazed into flame. His gaze raked over her exposed bosom. She nearly gasped at the savagery in his expression; he was shaking, vibrating with suppressed…desire?
“Is that what you want? You want me to tup you?” he demanded roughly.
“If that’s the only way I can get you to hold still long enough to listen to me,” she snapped.
“Were I to tup you, lass, you wouldna be speakin’, for your mouth would be busy with other things, and I, of a certain, wouldna be listenin’. So give over, unless you’re lookin’ for a rough roll in the heather with a man who wishes he’d never laid eyes upon you.”
He spun on his heel and stalked out the door.
When he was gone, Gwen sighed gustily. She knew that for a moment she’d almost had him, had almost provoked him into another kiss, but the man’s willpower was nothing short of amazing.
She knew he was attracted to her, it crackled in the air between them. She consoled herself with the thought that he must have some doubts or he wouldn’t be so studiously avoiding her.
Whatever his reasons, too many days were slipping by with nothing to show for them, and the arrival of his betrothed drew nearer, as did his impending abduction.
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