“Ah,” Deidre said as she tried to soothe Elen, “and he did the honorable thing.”
Elen straightened and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “Only after he talked to Formorian. He wanted her permission, I guess.”
“What?” Deidre asked in surprise.
She sniffed and wiped at her nose. “For her, it was perfect. She didn’t have to worry about losing him to someone he would love. And I,” she said morosely, “was naïve enough to think I could change his mind.”
“He must have cared about you some,” Deidre said. “You have Gilead.”
Elen gave her a watery smile. “I thought he would love me then. When I gave him a son.” Her face turned wistful. “Once he had his heir, he never touched me again.”
◊♦◊
Gilead brushed Malcolm’s coat with more vigor than usual. The stallion turned his head in the stall and gave his master a reproachable look.
“Sorry,” Gilead muttered and ran his hand lightly over the satiny neck. “I didna mean to take it out on ye.” Malcolm nickered and went back to munching his hay.
Gilead was angry with himself. He’d just spent five days in Dallis’s company and he felt no more for her than he had when they met. She was unerringly respectful in her replies to him, but he sensed emptiness with her. She didn’t know how to ride a horse nor did she wish to learn. She had looked totally shocked when he asked if she’d ever shot a bow. He’d tried to jest with her once, only to have her feelings hurt when she took him seriously. He sighed. About the only thing she did like, from what he could tell, was music. Her eyes always took on a dreamy look when Drustan strummed his harp. Or maybe it was the odes he sang to her. All women loved flattery.
Except Deidre, he realized with a start. Oh, she had her strange ideas of something called “chivalry” from that book the mad magician had left, but she was straightforward and honest. He knew where he stood with her. He winced. Aye. She had told him bluntly enough that she didn’t love him. He would do well to remember it.
But she confused him. Seeing Niall about to strike her had nearly undone him. He had to call on every inch of willpower he had not to knock the man down. How could he let that beast marry her? How could he prevent it? Bloody hell, he couldn’t even stop his own marriage from occurring, it seemed.
Well, if he were going to marry Dallis, he would have to put Deidre from his mind. If his father had only done that when Formorian married Turius, his mother might have had a chance at finding happiness. Gilead would not do that to Dallis. He would not emulate his father. He would not.
With a last stroke, he finished grooming Malcolm. What a mess his life was.
◊♦◊
Deidre sat in Elen’s chambers in shocked silence. She had never expected Elen to be capable of such deceit. She was seeing Angus’s behavior in a new light. Perhaps he wasn’t so cold and overbearing after all. And poor Elen. She had gotten what she wanted, but how horrible to have to face the fact that the only reason Angus was with her was because he had done the honorable thing and not compromised her. Not called her a liar. How horrible to realize that the man you loved could barely tolerate your presence.
It wasn’t supposed to be that way. And yet, even in her beloved Book, life was not destined to go smoothly. Had Gwenhwyfar been happy? Really? Not with Arthur. When she and Lancelot had the chance to marry, they didn’t take it. How sad. Deidre was so lost in her thoughts that she actually jumped when the door opened suddenly and Gilead walked in.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Deidre stood. “I was just leaving.”
“Wait,” Elen said as she turned toward the door. “Ye’ve been cooped up with me all morn. Let Gilead take ye for a ride.”
“That’s not necessary,” Deidre hastened to say.
“I’ve got things to do,” Gilead added, without looking directly at Deidre.
“Nonsense,” Elen said and pushed aside the plaid. “I’ll walk with ye. And I promise I’ll take some fresh air and sunshine while ye’re gone.”
Gilead looked at his mother helplessly and Deidre was equally dismayed. Elen hated being outdoors. She was bribing them! But why? Maybe Gilead didn’t love Dallis, but he had demonstrated his obvious devotion to her.
Una hurriedly dragged a large comfortable chair out to the side of the vegetable garden when she learned that Lady Elen was actually going to sit outside a bit. Gilead and Deidre left her tucking the plaid around Elen to insure that she stayed warm.
“You don’t really have to go through with this,” Deidre said when they were out of earshot.
Gilead raised an eyebrow. “Why do ye think my mother would come outside on a cool day and choose a spot to sit where she can plainly keep us in sight if she werena determined to see us ride off together?”
A tiny little spark leapt in Deidre’s heart “Why would she want that?”
He sighed. “I doona know. She doona like to see people angry.”
The spark ignited into a glowing ember. “Are you angry?”
“Nae. Ye made yer feelings clear enough.”
The spark died, doused with ice water. “You are betrothed,” she flared.
“So are ye!” Gilead glowered at her.
She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She didn’t have to be reminded that Lugnasad was just a short time away. A cunning thought struck her. Perhaps riding wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. If they rode far enough, perhaps she could claim to need rest. And, if Gilead were to doze off too, she could make her escape this very day. It was worth a try. But what she needed was some of Brena’s sleeping herbs.
“If your mother is determined that we not be angry at each other, let’s make a day of this. You go saddle the horses and I’ll get some bread and cheese and wine.”
Gilead almost grinned. “Ye’ll face Meara?”
She had forgotten that. Then she brightened. “I’ll ask your mother to do it.”
He shook his head and went inside the barn. Deidre went back to the garden.
Elen was delighted at the prospect and Deidre soon found herself with a satchel of fresh bread, a small crock of warm honey, soft cheese, and a skin of wine. Although she had managed to secure her small bag of coin inside her boot, she hadn’t been as successful with the herbs. Brena kept her cabinets locked. All Deidre could find was a small packet of woodruff lying on the table. Coupled with the wine, its hypnotic effects should make him sleepy, at least.
“Ye take yer time and enjoy yerselves,” Elen said.
Impulsively, Deidre hugged her. She would miss Elen, even knowing now that she wasn’t the innocent victim of a hapless marriage after all. Then she hurried across the bailey to where Gilead was leading out Malcolm and Winger.
As Gilead stuffed the parcel into a saddlebag, Deidre started to mount. Since she was wearing trews, she didn’t need the stump, even though it was still a high step to the saddle. She placed one foot in the stirrup and pushed off with the other. Just at that moment, a hissing cat streaked out from the barn, followed by a pack of yapping hounds. The whole assemblage flew under Winger’s hooves, causing the gelding to rear in fright. Deidre landed in a crumpled heap on the ground as the horse cantered away.
Gilead dropped to his knees beside her. “Doona move. Let me see if anything is broken.”
With the wind knocked out of her, Deidre had no trouble complying with his directives, but as his fingers carefully stroked down her arms and up her legs, she realized her breath was shaky for quite a different reason. His hands glided slowly across her rib cage, checking each one. She was sure her heart was going to thump right out of her chest.
“Nothing seems to be broken,” Gilead said as he traced her collarbone.
Did she imagine it or did his fingers seem to linger at the pulse in her throat? His touch was doing strange things to her stomach. The battalion of butterflies that she thought was permanently roosting had taken flight again.
“Can ye sit?” Gilead put an arm beneath her shoulders an
d lifted her gently.
“I’m fine,” she stammered. “I should have had a belter grip.”
“The dogs should have been in the runs, not loose,” Gilead answered as he helped her stand. “If you still want to ride, I’ll fetch Winger.”
Still want to? She had to. This was her escape. And, she admitted to herself, it would give her one last chance to be with Gilead. Whether he was betrothed or not, the fire she thought was banked had rekindled. What harm could it do to spend one last afternoon with him?
Winger watched them dolefully from the gate where he had stopped with drooped head. As Gilead set off after him, Deidre found herself facing an angry Niall.
“Did ye do that on purpose?” he asked suspiciously.
She frowned at him. “I hardly arranged to have a cat chased by hounds.”
“Ye know what I mean,” he said. “Ye pretended to be hurt so that son of a bitch could put his hands all over ye.”
Deidre raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think the laird would appreciate your referring to Lady Elen as a dog.”
He scowled. “Doona be fresh with your words. I’ll not have it.”
She reined in her temper. “And I’ll not have you telling me what to do.”
His face reddened and a vein popped out in his forehead. He clenched his fists and then shot a look toward Gilead. He stepped closer to Deidre and she tried to step away, but he caught her wrist and gave it a hard twist as he pulled her closer. She clenched her jaw to keep from crying out.
“Once we’re wed, ye will obey me in everything. Every single thing that I might want ye to do.” He bared his teeth wickedly. “And that includes bed. Aye, I look forward to that lesson. Ye’ll soon learn what happens to lasses that doona obey quickly.” He dropped her hand and stepped back as Gilead approached. “And there’ll be no more riding with him,” he hissed.
Gilead glanced from him to Deidre and back again. “I thought ye were leaving.”
“I was,” he growled, “but Angus wants to draft a treaty of peace with Fergus and asked me to stay. But I’ll not have my betrothed riding off with ye.” He turned to Deidre. “Get back in the house.”
“She’s not married to ye yet, Niall. ’Tis for the lady to decide if she wants to ride with me.”
Niall gave her a murderous look. “Ye’ll do as I say.”
Deidre lifted her chin. “I will not.” She brushed past him and the depth of his rage nearly seared her, giving her even more incentive to make this escape good. “Would you help me mount, please?” she said to Gilead.
He grinned and lifted her easily into the saddle, and then vaulted onto Malcolm. He gathered the reins and looked down at a furious Niall.
“My father doona like to be kept waiting.”
Niall glanced toward the Hall steps where Turius and Angus stood waiting. He turned back to Gilead. “We haven’t finished this.”
Gilead gave him a mock salute. “Any time ye’re ready, Niall. Any time.”
Chapter Eighteen
FOILED
“Where to?” Gilead asked as soon as they had cleared the gate.
“To the circle of stones,” Deidre answered. It was a place she wanted to go one more time before she left. Possibly, just possibly, the Sight would return to her there and she would know where to continue looking for the Stone.
Gilead frowned slightly. “It’s a long ride.”
“Then let’s not waste time,” she said and spurred her horse into a gallop.
Malcolm’s hooves thundered behind her and Gilead came abreast, the sash from his plaid flying behind him. “I’ll race ye to the tree at the mile marker.” He left her in a cloud of dust.
Winger strained at his bit, not wanting to be left behind. “All right,” Deidre laughed and leaned forward, easing the reins. “Go get him.”
Eventually, they slowed to a rocking canter and then alternated between trotting and walking. Neither of them spoke much. Gilead scanned the land for possible danger and Deidre was intent on planning her escape.
They arrived at the circle near Nones. Gilead squinted up at the sun as he dismounted. “We’ll have about an hour or so before we have to head back.”
Deidre felt momentary guilt as he helped her dismount. If her plan worked, she’d not be going back.
They walked to the stones and Deidre took a deep breath before she stepped inside. Immediately, she felt light-headed and a slight tingle raced through her, as though she had tapped an energy source, but no woman in white appeared.
“Do you feel it?” she whispered to Gilead.
“Feel what?” he asked.
“There’s power here.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Do ye think the Stone ye’re seeking is here?”
Deidre paused, tuning her senses to the circle. Gilead’s aura was pulsating with such vibrancy that she stepped away from him. She began to feel a gentle, humming presence, vaguely peaceful, as though the universe was suddenly totally balanced. The Philosopher’s Stone’s divine “geometry” was perfect harmony, but her Sight remained benignly quiet.
Finally, she shook her head. “Not the Stone...but something...compelling. Like inside this circle there can be no lies. Only truth. I know that sounds odd.”
“Not so odd,” Gilead said. “These circles were built for a reason and, undoubtedly, centuries of pagan rituals have taken place in them. Mayhap it’s that magic ye feel.”
Magic. She certainly needed all the help that she could get. Maybe whatever it was she felt would help her put Gilead to sleep and protect him until he woke. She looked up at him, admiring the strong, clean line of his jaw and the way his blue eyes mirrored the sky. It took all of her willpower not to throw herself at him and feel his arms holding her tight one last time.
“You may be right,” she answered. “I’d like to stay inside the circle as long as possible. Why don’t we have our meal in here?”
Gilead nodded and went to the saddlebags. When he returned, he handed her the food bag and started to pour wine into two tin cups.
“Wait,” Deidre said. “Would you mind getting me some water instead? I’m really thirsty after all that dust we stirred up.”
“Certes. I’ll be right back.”
As he walked down the small incline toward the burn, Deidre quickly pulled the small packet of herbs from her boot and stirred them into the wine that he had poured. She hated doing this to him, but she had to escape. And the place was perfect. Gilead would be safe inside the circle while he slept. She was already a good two hours away from Niall. By the time Gilead woke and returned home, she’d be almost a day’s ride ahead. The woodruff smelled a little like new-mown hay, not unpleasant. She hoped the wine would hide the taste.
Deidre had broken the bread and opened the crock of honey by the time Gilead returned. She handed him the cup of wine. “I’ll have some as soon as I finish this,” she said and drained the cool, clear water before Gilead could ask to dilute his wine.
He took a long swallow of wine before he began to eat. Deidre poured a little wine in her cup and refilled his as soon as it was empty. When she looked up to give it to him, his eyes were glittering strangely.
Gilead smiled at her lazily as he reached to take the cup. His fingertips brushed over hers, the pad of his thumb slowly stroking her knuckles.
Heat seared through Deidre’s arm and flared throughout her body. Every pore of her skin opened for him. His touch stimulated her. Even more so because she wasn’t expecting it. Was he getting drunk already? Did the herb affect the wine that much? He didn’t look drunk. His eyes had turned a deeper blue, the pupils dilated somewhat, but the look he gave her was intense. Sensual. Apprehensively, she tried to release the cup, but his hand closed over hers.
“Why doona ye come closer, Dee?” The fingers of his other hand gently traced the outline of her cheek and slid lightly down her throat. His gaze drifted to the roundness of her breasts beneath the lightweight linen shirt she wore.
Too late, she remembered anothe
r side effect of woodruff. She should have recalled it earlier, but it had a different name. The Romans called it woodrowel and used it as an aphrodisiac. Good Lord, how much had she put in that drink? As much as she would have liked for Gilead to make love to her—would have loved to feel herself naked against his bare skin—she knew he would hate her for deceiving him when the herb wore off.
“I don’t think you should be drinking any more wine,” she said and reached for the cup.
He held it tantalizingly out of her reach. “If ye want it, ye’ll have to take it.”
She stretched her reach, careful not to touch him, and then felt his warm breath as he dipped his head to nuzzle her neck. She tried to sit back, but his arm went around her and he pulled her to him.
“Ah, Dee, is this not what ye want, too?” He nibbled her earlobe enticingly.
By the Goddess, this was exactly what she wanted. To feel his big, hot hands caressing her entire body, bringing every nerve fiber alive in her skin, making her insides go all mushy and her knees weak. She wanted to feel herself being stretched by his thick shaft entering her and then feel the length of him fill her completely. Involuntarily, deep internal muscles contracted and she ached for him to be inside her. She began to pant as he undid the laces of her shirt. She must stop this. She knew how he felt about his father’s lustful urges. Gilead would want to kill her once he found out he had been a victim of her deceit.
She tried to push away from him, but he rolled over with her, one thigh pressed between her legs, his torso pinning her to the ground. Gilead slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply, his tongue probing for more. With a groan, Deidre parted her lips and tasted him. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and what little strand of sense she had took flight like a bird from an open cage.
Hands rumbling in haste, they divested each other of their clothes. Gilead leaned up on his elbows to look down at her. “Ye are beautiful, Dee.” Then he glanced at the remnants of their meal lying close by and gave her a wicked grin.
He dipped two fingers into the honey pot and let the golden liquid dribble on her breasts. He bent his dark head and began teasing a breast with his tongue, licking long, slow, broad strokes underneath and around, the tip of his tongue teasing the aureole, causing the nipple to tighten into a hard bud as he lapped up the honey.
My Noble Knight Page 27