Cairn didn’t continue and she gently slipped her hand into his. She turned to face him, resting her cheek against his heart. Verena didn’t know why he brought her to this place, but she was glad to offer him whatever comfort she could. When his mouth sought hers she raised her lips to him eagerly. His fingers gripped her hips, pulling her tight against his groin. She arched against him, curling her fingers into his hair. She wanted him to forget, just for a moment, the loneliness of the past.
Desperate fingers dug into her flesh, pulling her closer. She leaned into him, matching Cairn’s passion with her own. In spite of the chilly weather she was on fire from the blazing heat of his kisses. When his wandering mouth was stopped by the rigid Tudor neckline, Cairn ripped it so that her breast spilled into his eager hands.
Verena gasped, pleasantly surprised by the violence of his action. She could repair the gown later. What mattered was the intensity of his need for her. Their eyes met and she saw wildness in Cairn that was frightening and compelling. He needed her. He needed to bury himself deeply within her and allow the madness of their lovemaking to drive away his fears.
Verena was suddenly afraid of such a coupling. She knew she was much too close to this man she intended to destroy, yet her traitorous body craved his touch. Cairn was not the only one that needed to be loved.
He lifted her skirts and thrust one hand between her legs to massage her already throbbing flesh. She cried out as she was filled with the sudden, overwhelming pleasure. Her legs buckled beneath her and Cairn pushed her onto the burial mound.
Through a haze of pleasure she saw Cairn shift his weight as he followed her to the ground. She instinctively drew her knees up in anticipation of his first, beautiful thrust. When it came her entire body shuddered in ecstasy. She arched, uncaring of the mud and leaves sticking to her back and hair. All that existed was Cairn and the feel of him inside her.
As their lovemaking reached its thundering climax she clutched Cairn in her arms, twining her limbs about him as if she would never let him go. Gently Cairn turned her head and gazed at her with a look of tenderness and awe. He kissed her swollen lips and teasingly bit the plump lower one. Her limbs were heavy, completely spent by Cairn’s intensity, yet a strange excitement suffused her body. She felt cherished. Cairn softly brushed his lips against her forehead and for the first time in her life she felt loved.
Verena pondered that feeling as they made their slow, leisurely way back to the castle. There were so many things to occupy Cairn’s time, but for the moment he was content to walk beside her, holding her hand. It was perhaps silly to feel this way since she had engineered the situation, but knowing Cairn had chosen to spend his precious moments of freedom with her caused her heart to beat a little faster.
This must be how lovers feel. Would she have the same with Owen? Verena shuddered at the thought. It was hard to imagine being so intimate with anyone else. She didn’t want to think of the future when she would only have the memory of Cairn to carry her through the empty nights. She resolved right then to stop worrying about the outcome of her actions. She knew her duty to Lord Gundy and wouldn’t dare betray him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy these precious moments with Cairn.
Chapter 26
"There you are!" exclaimed Roselyn when Verena re-entered her bedroom. "I have been worried sick. Did you have an accident?"
She glanced down in embarrassment to find she was dragging mud, leaves, straw and other questionable objects, stuck to the hem of her gown. She removed her heavy cloak, displaying the ruined gown underneath.
"I was gathering herbs and fell into some brambles."
"You poor thing!" clucked Roselyn. "I’ll fetch some salve for your scrapes and prepare a hot bath for you. You must be chilled to the bone. Would you like some mulled wine?"
"Yes, please."
Roselyn bundled Verena into a luxurious robe of red fur-lined velvet and slippers that had been resting above a warming pan just in case. She then prepared a steaming mug of spiced wine for her to drink while Roselyn prepared the bath. She knew it was a servant’s duty to see to her master’s comfort, but her service was too thoughtful to be done out of obligation. She seemed to genuinely care for her well-being, perhaps due to the time they spent together in the village.
"Roselyn," she asked, when the maid returned with the bathtub and several buckets of steaming water. "You have kin in Sheepsdale that would house you should things take a turn for the worse. Do the other McPhersons have such ties?"
"Probably," said Roselyn. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
"If you are worried about the harvest," she replied. "Don’t be. Laird Cairn will never let us starve."
"And Langthorne?"
"I’m not afraid of the English. If Gundy meant to attack us, he would have done it while Lady Ivone ruled the clan. We have our Laird back now."
Lord Gundy was very much aware of the McPhersons’ activities. He probably paid more attention to his enemies than his own fief. Though skilled warriors surrounded Lady Ivone, Verena doubted she would be very effective in leading them into battle. Why did Gundy wait for Cairn to return?
She wished she knew more about the plan, but Hadran insisted it was safer this way. If his operatives were captured, there was very little they could confess. Gundy suspected there was a hidden treasure and was planning to invade, but most of the McPhersons had surmised as much. Many had searched for the treasure before she and the clan was constantly on the practice field.
She shook her head in confusion. It wasn’t her job to understand Lord Gundy, only to follow his instructions.
"There you go," said Roselyn, as she sat her in front of the fire to brush her drying hair. "You’ll be warm again in no time."
Actually, she was warm a long time ago and was now dangerously close to overheating, but she was enjoying the foreign luxury of being coddled too much to complain. She added Roselyn to the long list of things she would miss after she left.
"Thank you for taking such good care of me, Rosie."
"My da used to call me that when I was a little girl," she replied softly. "I’d forgotten the name."
"Should I call you something else?" Verena asked, perturbed by the girl’s reaction.
Impulsively Roselyn reached out, enfolding her in a quick embrace. "Nay, it is sweet, just like you," Roselyn whispered against her hair. Verena stood stiffly in the embrace, unused to such affectionate outbursts. First Owen, and now Roselyn. This was turning into a very emotional day.
"I’m sorry," said an embarrassed Roselyn. "That was improper."
"Nay, I wasn’t expecting that, but it was … sweet."
As an assassin and spy, sweet was a word that rarely described her. No doubt Owen would find the description amusing. She still felt a twinge of unease remembering how she had left her comrade. What was he about to say?
"When this is over you and I …"
Verena decided she didn’t want to know the end of that sentence. Eventually she would have to explain that she didn’t have the same feelings for Owen. How would he react? He might be hurt, or even angry, but she had never given him cause to hope for anything more than friendship. She wished she could talk to someone about her dilemma. Hadran was always good for strategizing, but he was in Langthorne. she dared not talk to anyone else.
Chapter 27
The door to the Old Lord’s chamber eased open with a tiny groan. Verena was glad she had thought to oil the hinges first. It was bad enough to be discovered by Cairn and his brother. If she were caught sneaking about again, people might become suspicious.
Inside the room looked exactly the same as they left it; barely disturbed. She shook her head at the brothers’ inexpert search. If Lady Ivone and her maids were also satisfied with such a cursory look, it was no wonder the treasure was still hidden. Now it was time for the real search to begin.
Walking over to the bed, she pulled off the blankets one by one, running her fingers across the dusty fabric in
case something was sewn into the hems. She ripped open the pillows at the seams to look inside, before carefully gathering up the spilled down to sew back inside. She looked under the bed, behind the tapestry, behind and under the furniture. She sifted through the ashes in the fireplace, and searched the furniture for hidden compartments. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
The chamber had been shut up after the Old Lord died, leaving it perfectly preserved, as if the castle folk expected him to return any day. His clothing was neatly folded and put away by the last faithful servant. An empty pitcher and goblet rested on a small table beside the bed. She could even see the scuff marks left on the floor where the bathtub had been placed. Like Verena, the Old Lord was fond of bathing in front of the fire.
This was where he spent most of his time. This was the bed where he made love to his wife, and where his son was born. She could feel his presence, as if the Old Lord stood before her, but there was no hint of the treasure.
Unheeding of the cobwebs, she trailed her fingers along the walls. They were excellently constructed and still smooth, despite their age. She pressed gently against each wall. It was hard to be sure, but it felt like the texture had subtly changed beneath her fingers.
Verena used the rag she brought to clear some of the dust and cobwebs away. One small section of the chamber was definitely constructed differently, as if changed after the room had been built. She could barely contain her excitement as she realized she had just stumbled upon a secret passageway.
It was ingeniously built, using the room’s architecture to hide the outline of the door. If she had not been feeling for abnormalities, she never would have found it. She pushed against the wall with all her might, but nothing happened. Frowning, she turned to look around the room, searching for a lever or button that would open it. There was nothing.
Verena chewed her lip in frustration. The treasure could be right behind that door. She just had to find a way in. She wished Hadran were with her. He was a genius with solving puzzles. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, mentally reviewing her search in case she had overlooked anything. Hadran taught her that the answers were usually obvious to the person that was calm enough to see them.
When she opened her eyes again they immediately went to the tapestry. Throughout her search, she had imagined the Old Lord’s silken eyes watching her, daring her to find what he had so cleverly hidden. There were so many rumors circling about this strange man. Was he a practitioner of the dark arts? The faintly smiling familiar at his feet seemed to indicate so. He stared haughtily down at her from the past and she couldn’t help sticking her tongue out at him.
Behind him, the McPherson banner proudly displayed a red phoenix. She had seen it a hundred times since she came to Scotland. The crest definitely fit the family. Though faced with calamity, they always seemed to rise from the ashes like the mythological bird. Cairn was no doubt praying that knack for survival would continue with him.
She squinted at the tapestry. Was there a message hidden in the cloth, a clue to opening the secret passage? From her lessons with Hadran, she knew artwork was often filled with symbolism, usually Christian, but after staring at the tapestry for a while, her eyes began to blur. She shook her head tiredly. If there was a message in the cloth she couldn’t puzzle it out.
Her eyes went back to the phoenix hovering protectively over the Old Lord, the symbol for victory rising reborn from the ashes. She knew secret passageways were often constructed to allow the nobility to escape during warfare or a siege. It gave the family a chance to survive and fight another day. Like the bird, they could rise from the ashes of defeat.
Ashes … she walked back to the fireplace. Could she have overlooked something? She had already sifted through the ashes, but now she was looking for something different. She pressed against each of the façade stones, running her dirty fingers across the soot-covered exterior. When nothing happened, she squatted in front of it, reaching inside the dark space to feel along the inside.
Ever so slightly, one of the stones moved. She grinned in excitement and pushed harder. The stone slowly gave way. When the chamber was occupied, a person would have to reach through fire to find this device. She turned back to marvel at the tapestry, and found the Old Lord and his familiar gazing down at her with matching looks of haughty contempt.
"I have to do this," she explained. "I don’t have a choice."
The tapestry didn’t respond and she forced a laugh at her overworked imagination. Behind her, the passageway had silently sprung open, as if pushed by invisible spirits. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, reminding her it was almost time for supper. If she wasn’t back soon, Cairn might search for her and she still needed time to wash the telltale dust from her gown. Nevertheless, the dark passage beckoned her. She found curiosity propelling her feet forward. She had to go through that door.
The darkness inside the narrow passageway seemed much thicker than the outer chamber. The shadows pressed against the meager light of her torch. She decided to leave the door ajar as she explored. It was a risk in case anyone came behind her, but she would prefer that to being trapped in this place.
The passage was so small she had to tuck her skirts up to keep them from dragging along the dirty walls. If the Old Lord was as tall as Cairn, he would have had to duck his head as he walked through.
She walked slowly, unable to see more than a couple of feet before her. With each step she moved farther away from the relative safety of the Old Lord’s chamber. Was this passage stable? What if the walls suddenly collapsed? Would anyone think to look for her here?
The tunnel seemed to go on forever, first downhill at a steep angle, then flat, and finally upwards. The icy stones cooled the stale air making her shiver in the darkness. A thick particle of dust lodged in her throat and she sneezed. The sound echoed off the moist walls like an explosion.
Verena came around the next bend and halted. In front of her the passage had caved in, blocking her way. She held her torch up for a better look and quickly revised her opinion. The walls had not caved in; someone had filled in this section of the tunnel with stones carried in from elsewhere. They wanted to block the tunnel without damaging it.
If they had done this a little closer to the Old Lord’s chamber, she would have been saved from a long, fruitless trip. Did the Old Lord do this or some nameless caretaker after his death? She didn’t relish the thought of coming back with a shovel, but that was exactly what she would have to do.
Far from being discouraged, this new obstacle made her pulse beat with anticipation. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep her from the other side of this tunnel. Something special had to be hidden there. Hadran would be rubbing his hands together in glee at the thought of tackling this mystery.
In the back of her mind she was glad this would give her a few more days to spend with the clan and their enigmatic leader. Just thinking of what they had done that morning made her blush. She wouldn’t mind staying a few extra days to finish her search … and continue her exploration of Cairn’s body.
Chapter 28
"You are lucky to have such a loving brother," growled Andreu as he lay shuddering in the tiny cottage next to Cairn. Though a cheery fire blazed nearby, it did little to dispel the icy chill in the air.
"You could have stayed at the castle," snapped Cairn, tired of his brother’s grumbling. "I dinna ask you to come along."
"And have you traipsing all over the Scottish countryside alone? Not bloody likely."
"Then stop complaining! Sometimes you are worse than Ivone."
Despite the weather, an amused chuckle forced itself through Andreu’s chattering teeth.
The two brothers had ridden to speak with the MacFies, a neighboring clan, about the upcoming war with Langthorne. Cairn thought the clan would be anxious to match themselves against the despised Lord Gundy, but they had enough problems, dealing with crop failure and frost. They wouldn’t commit their men to war.
Ca
irn raged at them, reminding the MacFies of ties forged long ago between their clans. He reminded them of their pride and duty to stand together, but it was no use. The MacFies wanted no part in Cairn’s conflict with England. The McPhersons had to fight this war alone.
Their laird had offered the men hospitality for the night, but Cairn stubbornly refused it. Two days had been wasted arguing with the MacFies and Cairn was anxious to return home and make up the lost time.
"I’m sure the farmer is much warmer in the barn," continued Andreu. "Tucked in with his sheep. I thought the poor man would soil his pants when he saw us ride up as we did, covered in mud and mad as the devil."
"We will be gone soon enough."
The two brothers knew they would someday grow up and become lords, but that future had always seemed far away. Andreu had also been abruptly thrust under the yoke of responsibility. It was tough, but Andreu survived just as he knew Cairn would. They had their wits and they had each other.
"These are hard times for everyone. If the MacFies had come to you with a similar request, you would have given them the same answer."
"Perhaps," Cairn replied. It galled him to have to ask for help and being turned away had not improved his mood. "I hate being helpless! And I am too old to share a bed with my brother!"
"Fine," snapped Andreu, poking his brother in one thickly muscled biceps. "I’m sure Fergus’ fat is a lot more comfortable than you anyway. The thanks I get for helping my family!"
Cairn grabbed a pillow and pushed it over his head to drown out Andreu’s angry muttering. He wished Verena were there. She was unbelievably comfortable with just the right amount of womanly softness. He loved the magical way her breasts filled his hands, the way she responded to his every caress. He could picture her eyes growing unfocused and heavy-lidded as he played with her. If Verena were with him, they would no doubt find ingenious ways to stay warm.
Seducing the Laird Page 12