She wanted nothing more than to speak to Deargh, and to have his counsel. To ask him what she must do. She wanted nothing more than to see Fiona’s face, and to know the elderly woman was all right, and had not been mistreated. Even if they could not escape, she ached for the comfort of their presence, almost beyond bearing. They both must be equally distraught and worried for her.
She paced again, her gaze settling on his armor, proof of Cull’s status among men. Of his formidable strength. His gleaming helmet, mail, and shield. Shivering against the chill, she moved toward the brazier and sank down inside the circle of its warmth. How could she, a mere peasant, get the commander of this army to do what she wanted him to do?
At the river, she’d glimpsed something in his eyes. Desire? Perhaps yes, tangled up with disdain for her, and displeasure.
The idea of touching him … kissing him …
She closed her eyes, as heat scalded her cheeks. No. She would not attempt to gain her freedom in that manner.
There had to be some other way.
Chapter 6
It was some two hours later when the flap of the tent swept aside. Startled, Derryth put down Cull’s tunic, the torn sleeve of which she’d been carefully repairing, and stood. For a moment she’d thought it was Cull returning, but no, it was Effric, who carried one large, rolled bundle and another bundle that hung from a rope on his arm.
He looked at her steadily, the gentle sparkle in his eyes all but nullifying his stern expression. “Just so ye know there are no sour feelings between us, I brought ye a pallet and a bit of warm wine, and some other things. I hope ’twill will make your night pass more comfortably.”
Derryth exhaled, her heart swelling in her chest. She stood, and smiled.
“Thank you, Effric. I have been sitting here alone … in this tent, feeling so lonely for my kinsmen, and downcast over being separated from them.” They were honest words, without alternative intentions. “Your kindness means more to me than I can express.”
He grinned, displaying several missing teeth, and passed the pallet into her open arms. He set the bundle near her feet. “Well there ye go then.”
She crossed the room and spread the pallet on the ground in the same spot where Cull had insisted earlier that day that she sit with her blanket with the warning that she not touch anything.
Only this time, during his absence, she’d dared touched quite a bit. Her pulse jumped nervously in her veins, as her glance fell upon Cull’s bed—its thick mattress, fine linens, and furs set upon a sturdy wooden frame. As the hours had passed and weariness had begun to claim her … she wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake.
Aye. She felt quite certain that she had.
“I’ll leave ye tae yer sleep,” said Effric.
With a nod, the servant returned to the door.
“Effric?” she called after him.
He turned on the threshold, his eyebrows raised. “Aye lass?”
“Should I fear your master?” she asked pensively.
His expression became grave. “Oh, aye, lass, you should indeed fear him. He is the commander here, and command he does. Do not mistake his fair-mindedness for weakness. He would punish any who threaten his mission most harshly. You mustn’t even think of displeasing him. Those who do, regret their mistakes most severely.”
His words echoed in her ears after he was gone. Nervously, she opened the bundle he’d left, and with the wine flask, found several soft washing cloths, a chunk of fragrant soap, and a comb, its spine carved into the figure of a long-tailed fox. There was also a small wooden box filled with a mint-and-rock-salt paste and wooden picks with which to clean her teeth. Such kind and generous luxuries!
What if Cull reprimanded Effric for not watching her closely enough? She prayed he would in no way be punished for what she’d done. Why had she not thought of that possibility before?
She uncorked the flask, and after giving it a sniff, drank deeply. The wine, which was dark red, warm and spiced with herbs, seemed to spread through her veins, dulling the chill that permeated the tunic she wore. It did nothing to calm the dread she felt, for now there was no way to correct the damage she’d done. No way to retreat from the challenge she’d set forth.
With agitated hands, she finished stitching Cull’s tunic, and set it and the basket aside. Quickly, she washed with the soap Effric had brought to her, and cleaned her teeth. It would be best if she were asleep when he returned, if only to spare herself the trepidation of his response.
She’d just started to braid her hair when the sound of a horse’s hooves met her ears, and she heard Effric’s voice calling out in greeting to his master. Her pulse racing, she snuffed the candle and fled to her pallet, pulling her solitary blanket over her head. She shivered, the thin wool providing her with little warmth against the colder air that occupied this furthest edge of the tent, so far away from the brazier.
Cull entered. She furtively peeked out, knowing the darkness concealed her. A tall, imposing shadow in the night, he glanced in her direction, his expression inscrutable other than the unyielding line of his jaw.
Every muscle in her body drew tight. She did not move. She did not breathe.
He turned away then, and set about removing his leather hauberk … and his tunic beneath. Her tension only increased, for soon his wrath would turn on her. But was that not what she’d intended? Cull’s hands moved near his waist and his trousers fell to the floor.
Derryth’s breath caught in her throat—
She did not know what she expected, but not that he would be naked, so suddenly. And yet as another moment passed, it was not her fear that transfixed her, but the sight of his body in the wavering light of the brazier, the fascinating cut of the muscles of his shoulders and arms traced by shadows. The scars, which had no doubt been inflicted by a whip. His buttocks, taut and smooth, flexing above muscled thighs.
It was not that she admired him or wanted him. Nay, that would be a betrayal of all those she loved. It was just that she had lived a protected life, and while she’d seen men’s bodies as they practiced at weapons and bathed in the courtyard, she had never seen one fully naked.
Cull half turned, reaching to raise the lid of his trunk.
Her breath caught in her throat—
She averted her gaze, but too late. She’d glimpsed that part of him—the one that defined him as a man—and though the moment had passed, the image of what she’d seen remained etched into her mind. Her cheeks burned and her mouth went dry, remembering his male sex, so … substantial and intriguingly formed. She felt ashamed for having observed him with such secrecy, and guilty for being more curious about him than she ought to be.
With a start, she realized he moved toward his bed, now wearing linen braies, noticeably tented by the same part of him she’d glimpsed just moments before. And yet the moment had come, one she’d put into motion. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, fearful anticipation replacing all else.
Bending, he lifted the furs and the coverlet beneath and climbed in. She burrowed further into her bed, breathless … dreading the explosion of anger to come.
He stretched out—and cursed, springing up, having discovered the ice-cold water she’d dumped from the basin, across his bed.
Blood pounded inside her head, as she waited to see what he would do next.
He stood for a long moment, his shoulders bunched, his hands clenched into fists. Then … taking up a pillow and a fur … he strode toward her.
“I know you are awake,” he muttered darkly.
“I assure you I am not,” she whispered.
“Move over.”
“What?” She sat up, her eyes widening upon him. Panic shattered her thoughts. “No.”
“You’ve destroyed the comfort of my bed,” he said, his brows gathered. “It is only right that you share yours.” Scowling, he dropped the pillow and lowered himself to sit on the pallet, he a long-limbed giant beside her, flinging the fur over them both.
This close, he was too large. Too powerful. Too real. She could smell the scent of soap and spice on his skin. He was not simply an enemy to despise, but a man who had every right to be outraged with her. She could feel the blaze of heat from not only his eyes, but his body.
“I will sleep on the floor,” she choked out, scrambling away.
He caught her arm.
“Lie down,” he gritted through his teeth. “And go to sleep.”
But the pallet was far too narrow. Their legs … their hips touched even now, separated only by thin cloth. She stared into his eyes.
“I can’t sleep beside you,” she said, her voice trembling.
Annoyance tightened his jaw.
“Then you shouldn’t behave like a child.” His gaze narrowed on her. “What were you thinking with such mischief?”
Words tumbled from her lips, plain and true. “I’d hoped you would be so angry with me, that you would let me go back to my kinsmen.”
He breathed out through his nose, as if he heard the reasoning behind her words, and attempted to calm himself … yet he did not release her.
“Look at me, Derryth, and listen this time,” he said, his hand large and unyielding on her arm. He pulled her closer. Not roughly, but slowly … purposefully, and he stared into her eyes. “It will not happen. I will not return you to your kin. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But perhaps the next day. I cannot yet say for certain.”
Freedom. He all but promised it, but could she believe him? An anxious breath left her lips.
His gaze fell to her lips. Heat rose up from her breasts, into her neck and cheeks.
He closed his eyes, and returned his gaze to hers, hard and cold, before speaking again. “Why must you remain here in my tent? Is it because I prefer the company of peasants? No. Is it because I want you in my bed? God, no.”
She flinched, hearing the derision in his words—seeing the terse line of his lips.
“Here is the answer. So again … listen carefully. I only have their cooperation as long as I have you. If I return you to them, it is very possible they will attempt an escape. Why? Is it because they are Kincaids and wish to warn their kinsmen of my presence here? I don’t know.” He tilted his head, biting out the words. “Most likely, it is simply because they are Highlanders, and it seems that is what all Highlanders do.” His gaze intensified, and his nostrils flared. “They cause trouble, one and all. They defy the orders of any Lowlander, for the simple purpose of being defiant. They. Waste. My. Time.”
Hearing him speak such words against Highlanders sent Derryth’s temper flaring. She attempted to yank her arm free, but he held her fast.
“If they escaped, Derryth, then I will be forced to capture each and every one of you, and because every warrior in this camp is watching, I would be forced to punish you. Perhaps, even kill someone you love.” His eyes held hers. “Is that what you want?”
“No,” she replied, trembling. Hating him and his threats.
“Neither do I,” he said, through his teeth. In his eyes she glimpsed something different than she expected … something honorable, and good.
The observation surprised her, momentarily pulling the rug of hatred out from under her.
“And neither do I wish to sleep with you,” he said gruffly, releasing her arm. “But these are my quarters, and I prefer you and this pallet to Effric’s snores and the wagon. So lay down, Highlander, and close your eyes.” His voice was hard, and the words, an order. “If you cannot sleep, then at least be still and do not move, so that I may have my rest.”
She had no choice. If she did not comply, she feared he would force her, by laying hands on her again, which she must not allow if at all possible. She shifted so that no part of them touched, and lay down, turning away from him, perched at the furthest edge of the narrow pallet. And yet still, she felt him beside her. His presence. His warmth along her back. She clenched her eyes shut, bracing herself for a miserable night.
Not because he frightened or repulsed her. Nay … to her shame, it was the opposite. She did not abhor his nearness at all.
* * *
Cull lay staring up into darkness, his teeth clenched and his muscles tense, all too aware of the young woman beside him. They did not touch now, but his heart thudded hard still, pumping hot blood through his veins. One question filled his mind.
What made her so different?
She was not the only woman ever to lay beside him, and certainly, those who’d come before her had arrived there in much more pleasurable circumstances. So why this pressure in his chest … why this fever in his blood?
He had been angry at finding his bed ruined, and had thought to startle her by insisting on sleeping with her, yes. To teach her a lesson so she wouldn’t cross him again. It was just that as soon as he’d seen her, looking up at him from the darkness, her eyes wide, her bright hair shimmering over her shoulders, he’d wanted her, and as soon as he’d touched her … his hand on her arm, it hadn’t seemed enough. Even now his hands ached to touch her. He struggled against the urge to pull her close, to make some excuse about the necessity of sharing their body heat even though he was already on fire, simply to see how she would feel there, in the crook of his arm, against him. God, she smelled heavenly, like nutmeg and cloves.
The power of his reaction to her startled him. Aye, he had felt a startling attraction to her that afternoon. He had been attracted to plenty of women, and this felt different. Somehow profound, although he chided himself for thinking it. Perhaps it was just that he was here, in this wild, beautiful place that affected him so greatly, about to engage in what might be a long and vicious siege.
Perhaps this Highland beauty represented the freedom his heart longed for, despite the rational warnings of his mind that he must be satisfied with a life spent in service to the king.
He reminded himself that he might achieve both, but only if he was disciplined and careful, as he had always been before. He could risk no missteps. No distractions.
Beside him, Derryth exhaled unevenly, no doubt hating him. Cursing him. Wishing for his death. Perhaps shedding tears.
Why should he care? She was nothing to him. The little peasant could never be anything to him, no matter how lovely or engaging she might be. Eventually, and only through the utmost care and discipline, he would marry a woman who could give him what he wanted most—land and a name. It would not matter what that woman felt like in his arms, or whether she made his heart come alive with passion and fire.
Eventually … after a long while, her breathing slowed, and her body went lax. She emitted the softest snore.
Amused, he let out a silent breath. Almost a chuckle. She … Derryth … snored. For some reason that amused him … and warmed his heart.
Eventually, he too dozed, but he awakened with a start, the tent still in utter darkness, to find her nestled against his side like a kitten, her cheek resting on his shoulder, her hand flat on the bare skin of his waist. He lay awake and aware, his body almost painfully alive, savoring how perfect she felt against him, so soft and sweetly feminine. How he would ever sleep again as long as she was here beside him?
And yet his eyes opened hours later to the dim light of early morn to find her narrow back against his chest, and him wrapped around her, his bare legs aligned with hers, his arm across her waist. The rich, shining tumble of her hair lay on his shoulder, fragrant and silky soft.
Heart pounding, and his body already sleepily aroused, he lifted his head to peer down at her face, her cheeks flushed with warmth and sleep. He liked her here, in his arms, like this. He liked it too much.
He dared touch the pad of his thumb to her cheek and let out a low breath. Carefully, he removed himself, and left her sleeping beneath her fur. After quietly dressing, he made his way outside.
* * *
Derryth wakened alone, to the sounds of the camp outside the tent, and wondered whether Cull had gone to sleep outside with Effric after all. Perhaps she had snored. Her younger sister Mairi, who’d sl
ept with her often through the years, had sometimes complained of it, and Derryth hadn’t minded at all, because sometimes it got her a bed to herself. But if Cull had heard …
Well, then so be it. It wasn’t as if she wanted him to find her attractive.
She pushed up, and touched a hand to her tousled hair, remembering the events of the night before. Her cheeks burned, remembering how he’d looked in the night, so immense and muscular, laying beside her, beneath the fur that still covered and warmed her body now.
It was a miracle that she’d fallen asleep beside him at all. But she’d been so exhausted by all that had occurred the day before, and concern for her companions weighed heavily on her mind as it still did, along with fear for everyone at Inverhaven.
Her fears had only increased with the passing of night. Though she sat utterly still on the pallet, her mind swirled, crowded with thoughts, and her heart beat heavily in her chest. Buchan’s army was one day closer to striking against all she loved. She remained in a quandary over what to do to help. Should she make every attempt to escape, or was it better to remain here in the commander’s tent, docile and silent, watching and listening for any bit of knowledge that would help the Kincaids?
“Good morn, lazy bee,” said a voice at the door.
Effric entered with a trencher and cup, and a bundle under his arm. Derryth remained on the pallet, the fur pulled to her chin, watching him. She had never see him without his dark snood. For the first time she saw his bald pate, encircled with short-shorn silver hair, which looked very much like a dignified crown.
“I’ve brought something to break your fast,” he said. “And your garments, clean and dry from the washer women. When yer ready, come outside to me.”
“Outside?” she said, sitting up. “Oh, no. I won’t be tricked.” She only half teased. “You already told me what would happen if I stepped foot off this Persian carpet.”
The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Page 7