“Do you have any idea why you’re this angry, Olwyn?” he asked her softly. “Do you not think you’re overreacting a bit?”
Olwyn did not answer his questions, for she knew he had the right of it.
All she knew for certain was when she’d pulled this man from the dungeon, he’d been half-dead and in need of her help. She’d been prepared to save him, fight for him, and nurse him to health.
She’d not expected that he’d wake and be so hale, so strong. She’d not expected to feel so unnecessary and uncomfortable.
Her father’s words haunted her. Saving him won’t make him love you.
But she’d not try to explain any of that to Aidan. The time for Olwyn to open up and be honest with him was over. She’d not go out on that limb again. Not when he’d shown that he could, and would, take it and give nothing in return.
And so she changed the subject, switched tactics.
“If you had any regard for me, you would allow me to have the privacy that as a woman, I deserve.” Olwyn said the words with stiff pride, but it was all lies.
The truth was, she knew she had no choice but to do as he said. He’d taken her pistol and her dagger, and he had seven men at his disposal.
If she ran, he’d catch her. If she hid, he’d find her. She was outmatched and outmanned.
And so it meant that she had no recourse but to lie with him in that great big soft bed. The thought of it weakened her legs, warmed her ears, turned her belly.
“All right,” he replied softly. “Take a few minutes to gather yourself together.”
He went to the room’s only window and looked down. “Four floors up and nothing to hold onto to climb down. You’ll not risk your neck, will you?”
“No,” she answered quietly. The last of her pride was gone, decimated beneath the grinding heel of her own surrender. She knew she wanted to feel the weight and warmth of him beside her in that bed, to feel for one more night that she was not completely alone.
“Very well. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Aidan pulled on his shirt and coat, went to the door and paused, turning to her again. “What I wanted to say, Olwyn, was that if I could go back and do it again, I’d not change a thing. For you see, having you angry with me now is a small price to pay for what you gave me. I’d never before enjoyed the regard and company of a woman whose eyes didn’t glitter with interest that had nothing to do with me, the man.”
Olwyn couldn’t help herself. She asked, “Your betrothed, my lord? Do her eyes glitter?”
Aidan sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. He seemed to think a long time about the question, as if he himself had puzzled over it long before Olwyn spoke the words. He shrugged and opened the door, stepped out of the room, closed and locked it from the outside.
Alone, finally, Olwyn raised trembling hands to her hot cheeks, pressing them against the bones beneath the flesh. She didn’t linger like that for long, however, knowing that Aidan would return soon enough. Rummaging through her bags, she found what she needed and began preparing for bed.
Aidan went down to the inn’s common room. He found Padraig sprawled in a chair by the fire, a tankard of ale before him on the table reflected in the smooth polish of the varnish. The room smelled of food and wine, leather and fire smoke. In the corner, a lone guitarist strummed out a melody as if playing only for himself, a sweet, lonely tune that tugged at Aidan’s heart.
“Is the witch sleeping?” his brother asked.
“She’s not a witch.” Aidan dropped into the chair across from his twin, Padraig’s face as familiar as his own.
“She’s the look of one.”
“And you’ve the look of an Irish bastard, aye?”
“Aye,” Padraig answered with a laugh. “Do you want an ale, brother?”
“I’ll have a whiskey, if they’ve a good one.”
Padraig raised his hand and a server rushed to the table, took the order, and returned swiftly a glass filled with pale amber. She bobbed deep in front of Aidan as she proffered the drink, and Aidan took it with thanks and took a deep sip.
“’Tis good,” he said with satisfaction. He lifted it to the light, swirled it, inhaled its aroma, and sipped again. “Almost as good as my own.”
“High praise.”
“I’m feeling generous. Coming back from the dead will do that to a man.”
“Speaking of that, fill me in on what happened.”
And so Aidan told his brother what he could remember, from the sickness to the black void he’d slipped into, and finally, waking in a hut beside a stranger, a woman.
“There’s something about her that’s different. Strange,” Padraig mused, obviously speaking of Olwyn. “I’ve never seen a woman so unusual.”
“You don’t even know her, have never even spoken a word with her,” Aidan said quickly, rising to her defense with a heat in his gut he didn’t quite understand.
Padraig regarded him over the rim of his glass for a long moment, and Aidan knew that his twin could see things in him that even Aidan did not recognize. It was a blessing and a curse combined, this knowing they had of each other. It made for a tight bond, but sometimes, that bond became a tether.
“You’re to be married, Aidan,” Padraig said slowly, and Aidan knew that when his brother used his given name, it meant he was deadly serious. “Are you looking to change that, I hope?”
“I came down here for a moment’s peace, not a lecture regarding decisions made long ago. Decisions you’re too afraid to make yourself, aye?”
“I’m not afraid of marriage. But I’m not going to rush off into it to prove a point, either.”
“I’ve got nothing to prove.”
“Liar,” Padraig said quietly. He took the last draught of his ale, and set the tankard down with a soft thump. Leaning forward to add emphasis to his words, he said, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing with Mira Kimball. She’s a good match from a good family, and she’s pretty enough. But marrying a girl like Mira is your own life sentence, and if you can’t see that with your own eyes, you’re a fool. She’ll never be enough for you.”
Aidan stood. “So much for a peaceful fireside chat, brother.”
“Well, it takes a friend to tell you the truth, and last I checked, I was your best. So I’m sorry, Lóchrann, if the truth stings you.”
Aidan’s hand tightened around his glass of whiskey. To hear his brother speak his darkest feelings aloud made anger brew in his body, poisoning his blood. With Padraig there was no privacy, not even in his heart.
A vision of Mira flashed in his mind, of her smiling face and pretty blue eyes. Surely marriage to such a woman would not be without its pleasures, and didn’t Aidan once think himself a relatively lucky man? So why, then, did he feel so dissatisfied and restless? Why had he wished that he’d woken in another time, to a future full of the promise of freedom?
And that future had included a woman with strange gray eyes as clear as a crystal, and a lightning streak of argent in her ebony hair.
Aidan pushed that thought out of his mind. What Padraig didn’t know was that there was more to his marrying Mira. He’d taken her virginity, and owed it to her to make it right.
He remembered the night it had happened, and the powerful lust that had pumped through his body, making stopping impossible. Surely if he could feel that way for her once, he would again, and his marriage bed would at least have passion, if it did not have love.
“I will wed Mira Kimball come June, and when she is my wife, you’ll afford her the proper respect.”
“Aye, I will. But until that day comes and the vows are spoken, I’ll speak the truth.”
“Good night, brother,” Aidan said, cutting him off. He turned to leave.
But before he could escape his brother’s presence, he heard him ask casually, as if speaking to himself, “I wonder if you will tell Miss Mira Kimball about the witch you’ve insisted on keeping in your bed?”
Aidan kept going, through the d
ark hallway toward the pool of lantern light puddling around the base of the stairs. He took them two at a time, the whiskey sloshing in his glass. He reached the door and hesitated.
This woman, this strange witchy woman, had cast a spell over him. He could find no other explanation for the confusion that muddled his mind. All he could think of since the moment they’d arrived was having her beside him in the bed, her body formed to his as if she were made specifically for him.
And so Padraig’s reminder of Mira set his temper on edge.
Reaching for calm, he promised himself that nothing would come of it, that he kept Olwyn near him only to assure himself she would not run off, and that when they reached Southampton, he would repay her properly and let her go.
He opened the door and entered, locking it behind him.
A smoky rich scent hit him with a lusty punch to the groin, burning incense that filled the room with exotic fragrance: amber and Tamil mint, sage and sandalwood, cardamom and ginger.
It was the scent of her hair and her clothes and her skin. It made him think of gyrating hips in a sultan’s tent, a seductive gypsy’s dance surrounded in swaying smoke.
His reaction to the fragrance was immediate, physical, primordial. It aroused in him a fierce hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Coming from the shadows, Olwyn emerged into the firelight. She wore a long, flowing dressing gown, and as she passed in front of the fireplace, the light illuminated her slim form moving beneath the shroud of white muslin. He saw the shadowy shape of her legs, buttocks, and waist, and his mouth went dry.
Olwyn approached him. The light was to her back and he couldn’t see her face or read her expression. She’d washed, however, for he could smell her soap on her skin, the same fragrance as the incense. Her hair hung down her back, reaching to her waist, freshly brushed waves of black against the white of her gown.
And as he stood there, the cheeky witch reached out and took the glass of whiskey from his hand. She drank from it, deeply, before handing it back as if it were the most natural thing in the world, to share his glass.
“Olwyn,” he said, trying to sound normal. “What are you burning?”
“Incense. I burn it every night before bed. It helps me sleep, and protects me from the nightmares.”
“What nightmares?”
“Rats,” she answered shyly, as if embarrassed of her fear. “I hate rats.”
He could smell the whiskey on her breath, and he wanted her to drink it again, hold the liquid in her mouth, and let him sip it from her lips.
He recalled how she’d snuggled against him when she’d drank whiskey before, and he wished he’d brought up the bottle from downstairs.
“Does it bother you?” she asked.
“Rats?”
Olwyn laughed softly. “No, my lord. The incense. Does the incense bother you?”
“It makes me dizzy, I think.” Or is it your beauty, your scent, your smile?
“No, my lord. It is the whiskey that does that.”
“I haven’t had much,” he said, even as he wondered at her game. The woman he’d left had been angry, defiant. And now she was mellow and yielding, smelling of sun-dried muslin and exotic spices. “You’ve put aside your anger?”
“I am a practical woman, my lord. I do not hang onto emotions that do not serve me.” She shrugged and spread her hands. “I simply wanted what I believed about you to be true. But it is not, and after contemplating the matter, I’ve decided that it is useless to be disappointed.”
Olwyn glanced at his glass again, and this time Aidan automatically proffered it to her. He watched as she drank, her lips wet with the whiskey. His gut tightened as her tongue slid along those lips, savoring every drop.
He would think she was trying to seduce him, if he didn’t know that she was completely unaware of her own beauty.
“What did you believe?”
“I thought you were honorable,” she said gently, as if she did not want to hurt him, but could not keep from speaking the truth.
Aidan turned away from Olwyn, struggling to remember why he’d closeted himself alone with her in the first place. Letting her leave seemed infinitely safer than spending the night with her. He busied himself with readying for bed, once again shucking his coat, shirt, and boots.
He heard her moving around behind him, the rustling of the sheets and covers as she slid into the big bed. He turned and saw she was huddled all the way to one side, and had placed a few pillows down the center to form a soft, plump battle line.
She watched him from the shadows, her eyes wide, the reflection of the fire moving through the hammered gray depths. The bed engulfed her, made her look fragile and small as she huddled on the far edge.
Aidan banked the fire and slid into the bed, wordless, for he did not trust his voice. It felt so strange to lie with her in civilized comfort, when they’d taken the warmth of each other’s bodies upon frozen, packed earth.
“You don’t need the bloody pillows lined up like that. I won’t touch you,” he finally snapped, reaching for annoyance to cover his desire. “But if I were going to, a barrier of feathers would hardly stop me.”
“You said you were not a cad.”
“And you said I was not honorable.”
“You are engaged to be married, but you kissed me. Does that action speak of honor?”
“A moment of weakness. Am I not entitled to a few of those by virtue of my humanity?”
“I suppose,” she said quietly, her voice lost in the dimness and the roaming shadows cast by the banked fire.
Silence fell over them, awkward and uncomfortable. Aidan lay still, his body hard and hot with awareness of her beside him. The incense seemed to fill his brain with fog. Nothing made sense. He reached for sanity, for the honor he’d been raised to demand of himself.
But in truth, it seemed a beast inhabited his body, a roguish scoundrel that cared nothing for nobility. His blood thrummed with the pulse of his desire just from being beside Olwyn. Holding and kissing Mira had never inspired such unadulterated lust.
It seemed as if his honor had died when his body did not. It had succumbed to the sickness, lost in the black coma that had landed him in Olwyn’s company.
How could he marry Mira Kimball when he felt such a dark craving for another woman?
‘Tis cold feet, he told himself, a normal reaction for a bachelor about to take a woman to wife. He would ship Olwyn off to the Americas, as she wanted, and the unsettling feelings would fade.
“Will you have one more lapse, my lord?”
He hesitated. Surely she did not mean what thought. “What are you asking?”
Another long pause filled the darkness. Her voice broke it again, this time tentative and very quiet. “Will you hold me?”
Chapter Twelve
“What is this? Some sort of test?”
In the dark, Olwyn flinched at the sound of Aidan’s voice, ragged and angry. Her own boldness shocked her. It seemed she had no boundaries where he was concerned.
All she could think of was that they would arrive in Southampton, and she would board a ship and never see him again. All her protestations and accusations were meaningless, sounds in the air that had no real heat or depth.
The truth was she wanted his arms around her. She wanted to be held tightly against that long, big body, cupped in those large square hands. And yes, she wanted another of those dizzyingly delirious kisses.
“We are alone in this room,” she whispered, afraid of his rejection, terrified of her own longing.
He rolled to his side and raised himself up on his elbow, peering down on her in the scarce light. “You are unbelievable.”
Shame flamed her face. And she felt instantly like an ugly hag who’d propositioned a handsome prince. His incredulousness cut deep. Olwyn raised her hand to her hair, to the mark that drew other’s eyes. “I am sorry, my lord.”
“You call me on my lack of honor, and then ask for the very thing you deride me for.�
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“I am sorry. Truly. Forgive me,” she said, and tried to roll so that her back was to him.
But his hand on her shoulder stopped her, a hard grip. He let go for an instant, and in the darkness she saw the flash of white pillows being thrown to the floor.
“Why?” he asked, a harsh one-word demand for her truth once again.
“I told you once before of how lonely I’ve been,” she answered softly. “If you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you’d see it as a favor I’m asking…just put your arms around me. We are both here, lying in the darkness. Just hold me, and let’s see if we can just forget the world for a few hours.”
Aidan hesitated. She could feel the coil of his tension and frustration radiating from him. “I am only human, Olwyn. To have you here beside me and not touch you is difficult enough, aye? But when you invite it…” His voice trailed off and she felt him move, a slight shrug of his shoulders, the twitch of his arm as if his muscles flexed with the exertion of holding himself back.
And the feelings she felt were overwhelming, feminine power and desirability. Perhaps others found her to be ugly, but for some reason, this man responded to her. He wanted her.
It was a private wanting, something dark and visceral trapped between shadows and the soul, an inexplicable and undeniable draw that Olwyn now knew they both felt. It was not a typical attraction to a beautiful thing, but rather something mysterious and harder to define.
It was lust, she realized. Absolute, unadulterated, monstrous lust.
Alone in the dark with him, surrounded by the hypnotic smoke of her incense and the vital vibration of him beside her in the big soft bed, Olwyn gave in to the wanting of his warm skin pressed to hers.
“Lóchrann,” she whispered. “Touch me, Lóchrann. No one need ever know.”
He, too, gave up the battle.
Aidan grabbed her again, and this time he pulled her to him, a fiercely tight embrace that was everything she’d craved from the moment she’d surrendered to his demand to keep her with him.
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