He sighed. “I canna let you escape again.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m not planning on escaping. What, do you think my injured pride would make me so thoughtless that I’d leave here and run chest-first into Sutherland’s dirk?”
“I wasna entirely sure,” he said truthfully.
She made a sound of utter disgust and then turned back to the window. “I’m pulling up my bedclothes. They’ll need to be shaken out, at the very least, before I sleep in them.”
“Wash them,” he suggested. “I’ll fetch some water for the washing.”
She made an exasperated noise as she turned back to him, her arms full of bedclothes. “They wilna dry in time. I’d have naught to sleep in tonight, and it’s midwinter, if you havena noticed.”
“I have clean plaids.”
She pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Fine, then. Bring me the wash water. And bring plenty of it. I’ll probably be washing the rest of the night. Everything in this place is filthy.”
“I will. But first—” He broke off suddenly, not sure how to say what needed to be said.
She waited, her lips pressed together in distaste as she watched him.
“Well, I didna mean offense.”
She snorted.
“It’s just… the way you kiss. It’s as if you’ve done it a million times before.”
She said nothing.
“And so I made an assumption. ’Twas wrong of me. I’m sorry, lass. I shouldn’t’ve done that.”
She broke eye contact, looking away. “How would you ken anything about how experienced I am? How many women have you kissed?”
Too many. “Some,” he hedged.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I was acting somewhat brazenly, I suppose. I dinna ken why.” She looked down at the bedding in her arms, her eyes sad. “Or maybe I do… a bit. I just… havena had real human contact in so long. I suppose I was craving it. And,” she added ruefully, “I’m a wee bit drunk.”
Sympathy washed through him. Loneliness he understood. All too well. “We’re both lonely, I imagine.”
She looked up at him. “You too?”
“Aye well, I was in the army for a long time, but after the Battle of Waterloo, I sold my commission. I’ve spent the last two years on the Continent doing… a variety of things. I rarely encountered a soul who spoke English, and I never saw anyone Scottish.”
“I dinna think I could bear that,” Aila said.
“Aye, well, now I’m here with you, I realize…” His voice dwindled.
“Do I remind you of home?” she asked softly.
“Home, and more,” he said.
“Och, right. Home and whores,” she said, lips twisting.
“I’m sorry for that.”
She sighed. “Dinna be. I suppose I should be glad I dinna kiss like a green lass.”
They smiled at each other for a moment, but it was a tentative smile.
“But I am a green lass,” she clarified, raising a finger to make her point.
He nodded.
“I’d rather no’ be green anymore, you ken?”
The realization that Aila was a virgin had brought logic flooding back into Max’s mind. He’d nearly put his position in the Knights at risk.
“It’s no’ a good idea,” he murmured. God, he hoped she knew the cost of him saying that. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything as much as he wanted Aila.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re an innocent.”
“Aye, and I’m tired of innocence. I dinna care for it. I never have, really.”
“Your husband will care,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in husbands.”
“Why not?”
“Have you seen the men in my village? There’s no one who’s not simple, eighty, or covered by spots.”
“What about men outside your village?”
“Who would that be?” she challenged. “Someone from Inverness, mayhap? Why would they move from a prospering town to bear the burden of my cottage and a thousand acres of scrubland?”
“If they loved you, they would.”
“It’ll never happen,” she said stubbornly. “I am destined for a life of spinsterhood.”
He doubted that. She was too bonny and intelligent to spend her life alone. Some man would find her and appreciate her as Max did, and he’d snatch her up and marry her right away.
Somehow, that thought annoyed him. He batted it away.
She took a step forward and whispered, “You want me, Max. I could feel it when you were kissing me, when you were touching me. My virginity canna change that.”
It didn’t change it—not at all. He couldn’t lie and say that it did. Still… “My superiors wouldna like it.”
“Why on earth would your superiors need to know?” she demanded stoutly.
He released a long sigh and stepped past her to close the window. Night was coming, and the chill had seeped into the room. “Come downstairs with me, lass. We’ve a great deal of work to do.”
She didn’t argue with his change of subject but went with him downstairs. He fetched buckets of water, warming a large potful as she changed into her nightgown, explaining that her dress needed a washing.
She washed her own clothes first, then the bedclothes, then the few items of clothing he needed to wash. She hung them on lines he had put up in the kitchen, because the sky was leaden outside, and it looked like it was going to snow.
They worked in companionable silence for the rest of the evening. He started a fire in the kitchen hearth and gathered some food for dinner while she finished the washing.
It was full dark when they sat down at the kitchen table to meat, whisky, and the rest of his bannocks.
“So good,” she muttered, taking another bite of the bannock, which she’d covered with the dried beef.
“Nay. They’re stale.”
“I dinna care,” she said with a grin. “Best bannocks I’ve ever had, if you care to ask me.”
Loving her resilience, he smiled at her, and she drew back in surprise.
“You have a dimple,” she said. “Just there.” She reached over and dug a finger into his cheek.
He shrugged. “Never paid much attention.”
“Well, I have. And it’s the first I’ve seen it. Which makes me think that was the first time you truly smiled at me. And I dinna even understand why my comment elicited a smile like that.”
“Because I admire you, lass,” he said.
“Me? Why?” she demanded. “I’m distrustful and temperamental and demanding. At least that’s what my parents used to say.”
“Aye, well ’tis true you’re all those things.”
She shook her head, laughing.
“But you’re also full of life.”
“As long as we’re living, we’re full of life,” she observed. “I dinna see that as something special, in particular.” She arched a brow. “Unless you’ve been associating overmuch with the dead.”
“You’re different, though, from most living beings,” he argued.
“Let’s hope I’m different from… a rat, for example.”
He snorted a laugh. “You are very different from a rat. But you’re also different from other people. You’re honest. Not guarded and mysterious, but open and candid. You’re feisty and spirited. A man could never be bored in your presence.”
She gave him a slow smile. “It sounds like you like me, Max.”
“I do like you.”
“I’m glad. I like you too.” She took another bite of her bannock, her green eyes flashing at him. “When I’m not hating you.”
He grinned at her and then looked down at his plate. They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Aila asked, “How will we ken when Sutherland is no longer a threat?”
“There are two other Highland Knights in the area—one in Inverness and one to the south. They
’re keeping an eye on his movements. Once they find him, they’ll send a message.”
“Will we be able to leave the castle at all?”
“Aye. Tomorrow we’ll go into Beauly Village for supplies. We’ll be needing food and such. But we should limit those trips.”
“It sounds like you think we’ll be here for a while.”
“We might,” he said honestly. “Sutherland has evaded the Knights until now. He’s a wily one. We will catch him, but it might take some time.”
“But you’re sure he wilna find us here?”
“Aye,” he said firmly. And if Sutherland did find them—well, Max was no stranger to defending himself. He wasn’t afraid.
“I’ll need to fix the front door,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Until then, it’s best we sleep in the same room.”
“Because it’s safer that way?”
“Aye.”
She nodded slowly. “Very well.” And then she gave him a wicked grin and added, “That’ll make it easier for me to seduce you.”
Chapter Five
That night, Aila was too tired to seduce Max. She still intended to do it, but she decided she would have plenty of time. After all the roiling emotions of the day, she was spent, and she fell asleep nearly as soon as she tucked herself into the warm plaids Max had given her.
Max had carried in another mattress and lay on the floor. When she woke, hours later, in a bitterly cold room, she rose, wrapped herself in plaids, and padded to where he slept near the door.
He looked younger in repose, the lines in his face softened by sleep. He was handsome whether he was asleep or not, but in sleep, he looked gentler, softer, as if he could be someone’s friend… or companion. When he was awake, he struck her as the lone warrior, quiet and strong but never allowing himself to get close enough to anyone.
She lay on the mattress beside him, not touching him but just luxuriating in the feel of being beside him, of feeling his warmth.
Eventually, he woke, jolting up off the mattress when he saw her beside him.
“Dinna worry,” she said, laughing, “I didna compromise you in your sleep.”
He glared at her, all sleep tousled and braw. “Why aren’t you on your own bed?”
“I was bored.” She rose and stretched, noting that as the plaids fell away from her chest, he glanced appreciatively at her breasts.
“Well, you’d best be getting ready,” he said grouchily. “We’ll be going to the market this morning.”
She did so, finding her dress still a bit damp, even though she’d hung it close to the hearth. She donned it anyway, hoping that it didn’t freeze solid on the way to the village.
Once they had everything ready, it was late morning, and Aila noticed that Max’s mood improved as the sun rose higher in the sky. It should have been annoying, but she found his morning grumpiness endearing—some evidence of humanity, of weakness, in a highly controlled man.
The ride into town took half an hour. Beauly Village was a pretty place, near a river that provided a bounty of fish, if the offerings at the market were any indication. Aila suggested lunching at the inn in the High Street, but Max declined, saying the fewer people who saw them, the better. Instead, he efficiently bought them plenty of food—whatever Aila suggested, in fact—and stuffed it into the saddlebags. They’d only been there for twenty minutes before they were leaving again, passing by the medieval priory that dominated the center of the village.
They were home by noon, and they spent the remainder of the day fixing the front door, then cleaning the filthy rooms they’d decided to occupy.
When Max told Aila that the Highland Knights had hired a woman to clean Beauly Castle, Aila had given a long-suffering sigh.
“You mean to tell me this woman is in Beauly Village?”
“Aye.”
“Well then,” she griped, “why did we no’ seek her out and beat her over the head with her broomstick? She’s a terrible housekeeper!”
As night fell, they cooked a supper of grilled salmon with onions and peas, with baked apples for dessert.
Truth be told, it had been one of the finest days in Aila’s recent life. She’d had companionship all day, and it had been comforting. She’d thought about her parents throughout the day, but not with the debilitating pain she’d felt even yesterday.
Max didn’t speak often or much. He was a quiet, strong presence. But she hadn’t once felt lonely today. She wondered if he had.
After their dinner, Max took up the lamp and they headed upstairs. In the bedchamber, he turned his head politely when Aila removed her dress to put on her nightgown, even though she hadn’t asked him to.
“You can watch, you ken,” she teased the back of his head.
“Have you no modesty, woman?” he growled, still not looking. Her dress fell to the floor, leaving her in her chemise. Max hadn’t thought to bring her stays, so she’d gone without, but fortunately, her bodice was tight enough to provide at least some support to her bosom.
“Nay,” she said bluntly. “I intend to bed you tonight. So you might as well take a look now.”
He released an expletive, and she laughed. “I’m naked now,” she announced. “Just in case you change your mind.”
“Nay,” he muttered.
“Be stubborn, then,” she said lightly before donning her nightgown. Once it was on, she headed straight for Max’s mattress, but he finally turned and held out a hand, stopping her.
“You’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.”
She sighed. “I thought I made it clear I planned to seduce you.”
She could tell he was trying not to grin. His lips didn’t budge, but his eyes glowed with a smile nonetheless. “You did. And I’ll not be allowing it.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“Aye, well—” He rubbed a frustrated hand over his head. “I think so too, half the time. Now get to bed.”
Aila went, smiling to herself. His resistance was wearing thin. Soon. Not tonight, but soon he’d show her all those pleasures she’d always wondered about.
Two days passed, then three. The snow had come, and white now blanketed the world outside. But, working together, Max and Aila had managed to create a warm, comfortable retreat amid the multitude of rooms in the castle.
She was torturing him.
Max was trying to do the right thing, damn it. Then why did she taunt him continually, stretching his resistance so tightly, he was afraid he’d snap and do something he’d regret later?
He was normally a stoic, contained individual. But something about Aila MacKerrick unraveled him, made him feel wild and unsure.
They’d just had dinner on their fifth night at Beauly Castle, and they’d retired to the drawing room, where Max had started a fire. Earlier, they’d raided the library up on the second floor, and each of them had found a small pile of books they wanted to read.
Now, by the light of a lantern, Aila opened the first book—The Canterbury Tales—kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa, and proceeded to read.
He opened his own book—Shakespeare’s Coriolanus.
He tried to read. But he couldn’t. Instead, he kept glancing over at her. Bonny Aila, who’d toiled beside him for the last week as if there was no doubt she’d ever do anything else, but this wasn’t her castle; the place’s filth wasn’t her problem. He appreciated all she’d done. She’d made it easy for him.
And now she lounged against the sofa and read avidly, looking relaxed and lovely, her body calling out to him in a siren’s song he’d been avoiding for what seemed like forever.
Why did he insist upon torturing himself? She wanted him. She’d made that clear in about ten thousand different ways over the last few days.
Closing his book with a snap, he stood abruptly and strode over to her, watching her as she peered up at him over the top of her book. He took The Canterbury Tales from her hands and set it asi
de as she complained, “Wait! I’m at a good—”
“Be quiet,” he ordered.
“But—”
He scooped her off the sofa and grabbed the lantern. She squealed as he strode out of the room, headed for the stairs.
“What are you doing, Max?” she asked crossly. But she slipped her arms around his neck.
He couldn’t think. He could only feel her body against him—a sensation he’d craved for what felt like eternity. She felt so good against him. As if she belonged there. And he knew he needed to get her to a place where he could have more.
He reached their bedchamber and stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind them before laying her on her bed and setting the lantern on the side table.
She stared up at him. “What on earth—”
He kicked off his boots. “I’ve reached my limit with you, woman.”
“Your limit? What do you—” She was struck dumb, though, as he yanked his shirt over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up, wearing nothing but his kilt.
“Oh good heavens,” she gasped, her gaze trailing appreciatively over his chest.
With that, his patience for undressing was at an end, and he didn’t bother with his belt. Instead, he climbed onto the bed and loomed over her.
“No more. Do you hear me? No more,” he growled.
“No more what?”
“Dinna pretend you dinna understand.”
She opened her mouth, but he dropped his head and kissed her, hard, pouring into it all the frustration of the last several days. She surrendered immediately, her arms wrapping around him and her lips moving against his. He prodded her mouth open with his tongue and swept inside. She sucked greedily on his tongue, then licked and nibbled at his lips.
God. He was drowning in her. She always surprised him, always gave him the reaction that made his gut clench and his regard for her climb. Now was no exception. She would never be a simpering miss, lying passively under him. She’d be an active participant—even when he threw her over his shoulder and onto his bed.
“Aye,” she panted against his lips. “Finally.”
“You’re a minx,” he growled. “I should spank your arse.”
“I dare you,” she hissed, her green eyes dancing with mischief.
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