by Amanda Scott
“I serve Mackenzie of Kintail,” he said. “Kintail is loyal to Jamie, so I likewise serve him. Since I must serve Beaton to free Kintail, I serve him, too, but if Jamie meets his uncle Henry, the rules may swiftly change.”
“How long will Henry wait at York?”
“No one knows. He’s in a foul mood, but I think he will wait some time, because he believes he has only to speak to Jamie to persuade him.”
“Will you go with James if he goes?”
“He is not such a fool as to ride a hundred miles into England to meet Henry, but I’ll do what Kintail commands. In truth, I hope he commands our return home.”
Beth shivered, wrapping her cloak more securely around her. “It is colder tonight than it has been, is it not?”
“No, but you have shared your bed with that blasted hound these past nights,” he said. She heard rustling, and then his arm slipped under her shoulders and he drew her close. “You’ll be warmer now,” he said.
“Will I?”
“Aye.”
He was on his side, and she could see him outlined against the starry sky as he leaned over her. His lips gently touched hers, and when she did not draw back, he kissed her again.
She moaned a little but did not try to push him away. She did not want to, and if that made her wanton, she thought, so be it.
His body radiated warmth, so she was certainly no longer cold. He was gentle, his kisses soft, as if he were tasting her lips and then her cheeks and eyelids. Her head rested on his arm. As his lips trailed a path from her eyelids to her earlobes, newly grown whiskers lightly prickled her cheek.
“It is as well that you are no longer posing as a woman,” she murmured. “Your beard has grown since our visitors were here.”
“Has it?” His lips moved to her neck, and she felt her pulse beat against them. The touch of whiskers on her neck and cheek shot tingles through her body. She drew a breath as his free hand moved to her shoulder and pulled her closer.
“Don’t fear me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I want to taste you everywhere, but I’ll not harm you, I swear.”
She could not speak, even to tell him she had no fear of him, only of herself. Her body pressed against his, wanting him, and without a qualm, she cast all thought of consequences to the wind sighing through branches overhead.
He was not holding her so tightly now, for his free hand moved to caress her breasts, and his lips moved back to her mouth, kissing her more fiercely now, his tongue demanding entrance. The sensations he stirred were new and delightful, and she began to experiment, teasing his tongue with hers and moving her hands on his body, exploring him as he explored her.
When his fingers moved to the laces of her bodice, she turned to make it easier for him, and for a brief moment, her breasts felt the kiss of the cool breeze. His hand cupped first one and then the other, stroking lightly at first, then gently kneading the right one, using a fingertip to brush the nipple.
She gasped at the jolt of desire that swept through her, and she heard him moan softly as his kisses became fiercer, more demanding. Then his lips left hers and he bent his head lower. Before she realized his intent, his lips closed around the nipple he had teased and his hand moved lower, stroking her bare belly.
He continued in this manner for some time, and when he paused at last, she gasped in disappointment.
“Don’t stop!”
He chuckled low in his throat. “I must, lass. If I don’t, we’ll both be sorry.”
“I won’t!”
“You will, and what’s more, if I continue, you’ll likely soon hate me.”
“I won’t, I swear! I’ve never felt such feelings before. Please don’t stop.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I shall barely retain a clear conscience as it is. You tempt a man sorely, sweetheart, but I promised I’d protect you on the road and when we reach Stirling, and I know of only one way I can do both.”
His tone had changed, and she knew she did not want to hear what he had decided. “I’ll be with you,” she said. “You can protect me easily.”
“Nay, sweetheart, that would be the worst thing you could do, for I cannot protect you and serve Kintail as I must. As it is, your reputation will suffer, do what I may to prevent it, but we’ve had the lad and the dog with us, and Jock is no prattler. If anyone asks him, he’ll swear you remain chaste, as indeed you do.”
“But who would dare ask, if I were under your protection?”
He gave her a little shake. “I’ll not willingly cause your ruin, Beth. Don’t think that of me. Sir Hector will ask, certainly. It is his right and his duty.”
“Sir Hector?” She could scarcely breathe.
“Aye, I can entrust you to him. He has always been kind to you, has he not?”
“Others have not, though,” she said, fighting her emotions, not wanting him to know how close she was to tears.
“I don’t want to go back, Patrick, and you are cruel if you make me. They will beat me for running away.”
“They will not,” he said firmly. “You will apologize to Sir Hector for running away, and I will see to it that no one harms you.”
“I won’t do it!”
“Oh, yes, you will.”
She argued with him until the following afternoon when the royal burgh of Stirling loomed ahead on its craggy hilltop, creating a stark contrast with the low, rolling, green hills to its east and west.
She called him every evil name she could summon to her tongue, vowed that nothing he could say or do would make her return to the Farnsworths. She ignored him when he tried to talk of other things, even when he pointed out the field at Bannockburn as they passed, and tried to tell her its history.
She was riding his pony while he strolled beside her, the hooded Zeus on his shoulder. Jock rode Jackie and led the sumpter pony, and Thunder loped ahead, exploring the countryside first on one side of the road, then the other, sniffing every bush and marking every tree.
There were several horsemen on the road some distance ahead of them, but no one besides Jock was near enough to hear when she snapped, “I know all about Bannockburn and Robert the Bruce. The battle took place in 1314, and years later it was a Douglas who carried the Bruce’s heart back from the Holy Land. Douglases of that ilk still display the heart on their crest.”
Patrick remained silent long enough to make her wish she had not spoken so sharply or mentioned Douglases of any ilk. In general, she felt so comfortable with him that she tended to forget that he had small opinion of Douglases and did not yet know that she was one, but she did not feel comfortable now. The silence lasted too long, and it was heavy with his displeasure.
When at last he spoke, he said quietly to Jock, “Ride on ahead for a bit, lad. Wait, though. Leave the sumpter pony, and take Zeus. Lend him your glove, Beth.”
She had tucked it into her belt, because she and Patrick had been taking turns carrying the hawk. She pulled it free, and he took it from her, giving it to the boy when he rode near enough and taking the lead rein from him.
Jock slipped on the glove without comment, and then held his gloved fist against the hawk’s belly until Zeus stepped onto it. No one spoke as the lad rode on ahead. Thunder joined him, trotting alongside.
Beth was sorry to see them go. The air was charged with Patrick’s irritation as he stood silently, watching them.
She could think of nothing to say, nothing that would soothe his temper, and she realized that she wanted to soothe it. In general, she found it exciting to argue with him, to say things she had never said to anyone else, to relish the freedom of saying whatever came into her head without stopping to consider how it would be received. But now, she wished she could unsay the last few things she had said.
He turned toward her at last, dropping the lead reins. The two horses would not wander off, but he clearly gave them no thought.
Beth braced herself, but she was not prepared for him to clasp her around the waist and lift her from the horse. He held her d
angling in front of him for a moment, glaring at her, eye to eye, and then set her on her feet with a bone jarring thud. His hands moved from her waist to her shoulders, holding her firmly where she stood.
Her temper flared despite her fears. “What—?”
“Be silent,” he snapped, giving her a shake. “You have said enough, and I have listened as patiently as I know how, hoping you would say all you wanted to say and be done with it. Apparently you can spit words indefinitely though, and I have heard enough. I do not want to hear any more.”
“But I—”
He gave her another shake, saying, “You will return to Sir Hector and his lady, and that is that. You would not be safe anywhere else. Innocent, respectable young women do not look after themselves in Stirling or anywhere else, and you cannot stay with me. Nor can I take you to Kintail or Molly. Even if Jamie would permit that—and we would have to ask his permission—they have enough on their plates without having to worry about you.”
“But I told you, I mean to make my own decisions now.”
“And I am telling you that you will not,” he said, his fingers gripping her so tightly that she was sure he was bruising her. “At this moment,” he added, “I’m not even sure I want to prevent Sir Hector or his lady from punishing you. Consider yourself fortunate that I generally draw the line at putting females across my knee on the highroad, but don’t tempt me further. My palms are fairly itching.”
A thrill of fear shot through her. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would.”
They stood glaring at each other, his hands still gripping her shoulders.
The tingling in her body increased as her awareness of his size and power, and his pulsing anger with her, altered into something altogether different.
The day seemed warmer, and she felt as if she had been running. Her breathing came quicker, and her heart pounded. Even her cheeks tingled. Her lips felt dry. She licked them.
“Damn you,” he muttered, yanking her against him and kissing her hard.
Chapter 14
Beth’s body stirred in response to Patrick’s kiss as it always did, and without thinking about the folly of her reaction, she kissed him back, meeting his tongue with hers, pressing against him as if she could melt right into him and become a part of him always. If only she could, she thought, if only she need not go back to them.
She felt his body move against hers, and his kisses became more possessive, hard and demanding. His hands moved urgently over her, caressing her arms and her breasts, the curves of her sides and her hips, and then they slipped around to cup her bottom. He pulled her tight against him.
She held on to him just as tightly, savoring every sensation.
“Oh, sweet Beth,” he murmured. “How you torment me!”
His lips moved from her mouth to the side of her neck beneath her right ear. His teeth nibbled her earlobe, sending flashes of heat through her body.
She gasped, and he stopped nibbling. She could feel his warm breath against her neck, and she could still taste his kisses on her lips and feel the impression of his teeth on her earlobe. His scent enveloped her, musky with an herbal hint of woodland and a tangy, lingering touch of wood smoke.
Neither of them moved.
A lapwing’s high-pitched weet-weet sounded in the distance, accompanied by the fading drumbeat of Jackie’s hooves on the road ahead.
Patrick straightened, saying gruffly, “If we don’t stop this madness, you’ll have more to worry about on the highroad than just being put across my knee.”
She did not reply. She understood him and could hardly say that she did not care if he did take her right there. The thought startled her. Clearly, she had grown even more wanton than she had feared. Could even a merciful God forgive such behavior? Neither the punishing God of Cardinal Beaton nor Henry of England’s more compliant one would do so. Their versions of Him would order her straight off to hell for even thinking such shameless things.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, remembering the horrid things she had said to Patrick. Looking up into his eyes, she said, “I’m sorry I spoke to you as I did. I do not really think you are a milk-livered dolthead. Indeed, I am not certain I know what ‘milk-livered’ means.”
His lips twitched. “I liked ‘knavish, plume-plucked gudgeon’ best.”
“Did I say that?” She wrinkled her nose. “I do not remember, but Sir Hector sometimes says that, so I suppose I did. Must I really go back to them, sir?”
“You must, sweetheart, and I want you to promise you will stay with them, too, no matter what they do to you.”
She hesitated.
His lips tightened. “If you run away, Beth, I will find you and make you wish you had never been born,” he said, his tone stern enough to send shivers through her again. “It terrifies me to think of what could happen to you, all alone in Stirling.”
She sighed. “Very well then, I will do as you say, but I hope you will not be so cruel as to encourage Sir Hector to punish me or to allow Lady Farnsworth to do so. It will be hard enough to face them without enduring that.”
“I can make no promises where they are concerned, sweetheart, but I do promise to try. Whatever they do, they cannot murder you.”
With that, she had to be satisfied. Indeed, she thought, as he lifted her to his horse’s back again, it was more than she deserved after all the things she had said. It was strange, though, to think how easily she had given rein to her temper when she rarely had done so before. She believed she had become adept at controlling it, but with Patrick she seemed to have no control over any part of her body.
The rest of their journey was without incident, and soon they were wending their way up the steep, narrow confines of Spittal Street and Bow Street to the tall, narrow house of Sir Hector’s cousin, Oscar Farnsworth, in St. Mary’s Wynd.
Leaving Jock to mind the horses, Patrick lifted Beth down and stood for a moment with his hands at her waist, gazing into her eyes.
“I know you don’t want to do this,” he said, “and I wish it weren’t necessary. But I do believe it’s the best course for now. I’ll stay until I can arrange proper care for Zeus, or until Sir Hector arrives and takes him to the King, but I must visit the cardinal and Kintail soon to let them know I am here.” He paused, and when she did not speak, he added gently, “I meant what I said earlier about running away.”
She sighed heavily. “I know.”
He was silent, still gazing at her. Then he said, “If you cannot bear it after I’ve gone, or if they do something dreadful, seek me at the castle.”
She tried to smile then and failed. “Is that where you’ll be?”
“Aye, for I must join Kintail and his lady as soon as I can, and even if they get permission to leave at once, it will be a sennight at least before they can go.”
“I doubt anyone at the castle would let me in,” she said. “Last year, Lady Farnsworth let me accompany them all when they went to court—to care for their gowns and such and dress them, not to attend court, of course. But they always held cards of entrée, and whatever else she may do, I doubt she will let me go this year.”
“Send a messenger, or if you need to find me there yourself, you need only apply to the royal porter. Tell him you are a servant in Sir Hector’s household and that you have brought a message that you must give to me personally.”
“Won’t he wonder why Sir Hector would send a female on such an errand?”
“If he is so impertinent as to question Sir Hector’s orders, just tell him you can give him no information other than that you were so commanded,” he said.
At the door, they learned as expected that Sir Hector and his family had not yet arrived, whereupon Patrick asked the gillie to take them to Oscar Farnsworth.
The next half hour passed far too swiftly for Beth.
Oscar Farnsworth greeted them as heartily as if they had been friends of Sir Hector and Lady Farnsworth rather than their servants. He was a much larger man than hi
s cousin, with a round, pink face framed by a bushy gray beard and side-whiskers. The little hair remaining on top of his head was fashionably short. He recognized Beth at once, greeting her as Elspeth, and if he thought it odd to see her in company with the falconer, he did not say so.
Patrick gave him Sir Hector’s letter of introduction.
“Yes, yes, I’ve been expecting you,” Farnsworth said. “A running gillie arrived from Hector yesterday to tell me they will be here by noon tomorrow and warning me to expect you. Is that hawk of his ready to give to the King?”
“Aye,” Patrick said. “He asked only that I man ’im tae the fist, but he ha’ responded gey quick, sir. He’ll need more training yet afore he’ll be fit tae take part in a royal hunt, but I warrant his abilities will astonish his grace. I ha’ brought a lad tae help wi’ the bird, and two ponies, as well. Where would ye like us tae stay, sir?”
Hearing him affect the strong Border accent again, Beth suppressed a smile, although she had little cause for humor. She knew that Oscar Farnsworth must wonder why she had traveled with him. Farnsworth kept glancing at her, but he had not said a word to her since his greeting.
“Hector said most likely you would not be staying,” Farnsworth told him. “I have my own mews, you see, and an experienced falconer, so you need not. But Hector did ask that you present yourself here at two o’clock tomorrow, since he means to give the bird to his grace at once and wants you to be present, in the event that his grace has any questions about the hawk’s training.”
“Aye, I’ll be here,” Patrick agreed, glancing at Beth.
Farnsworth smiled. “If you cannot find a room in town—which is likely with so many here to celebrate the young duke’s birth, you are welcome to return. I can also pay whatever Hector may still owe for your services, so you will have money.”
“Thank ye, sir, but he owes me naught,” Patrick said.
“And what of this young woman with you?” Farnsworth asked abruptly.
“She be a servant in Sir Hector’s household,” Patrick said.
“Aye, I ken the lass,” Farnsworth said, eyeing him narrowly. “Indeed, my wife and I have hitherto had a great fondness for her. Hector did not mention her, though, and what stirs my curiosity…” With a sweeping gesture, he coupled the two of them, clearly assuming that Patrick would take his meaning.