“Weel, it may be time to send in another maid, one who kens how to sweeten a mon’s humor until his tongue runs freer.”
She watched him stride away and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from ordering him not to do that. The mere thought of one of the other maids taking her place made her heart hurt. Any one of the others would be climbing into Sir Gillanders’s bed so quickly she doubted he would have time to lift the covers for her.
“I hope he means that, for I would be fair pleased to be the mon’s maid.”
Murdina scowled at Jeanne as the maid paused by her side, carrying two slops buckets. “Egan has no say in such things. ’Tis Mistress McKee who decides who does what about here.” Jeanne stank of envy and a deep anger, and it was so strong, Murdina did not even have to touch the woman to feel it.
“Mistress McKee will do as she is told.”
As she watched Jeanne walk away, it took all of her willpower not to hit the woman over the head with the tray she still clutched in her hands. It was jealousy burning inside of her now. Murdina did not understand why she had such feelings concerning a man she had known only a sennight, one she saw only a few times a day. She knew she ought to get away from Dunnantinny before she did something very foolish, took a step she could never back away from, but she knew she would not do that either. At some time during the sennight in which Sir Gillanders had been spinning his playful web of seduction, she had become firmly caught.
She looked at the door and thought about going back in there to tell him he had to cease his games with her. Murdina actually took a step toward the door before good sense prevailed. If she went back in there right now while the heat of his kiss still warmed her mouth and her body, the very last thing she would be doing was telling him to leave her alone. The fact that she could touch him, could enjoy his kisses and feel nothing but desire despite her cursed gift made him a temptation almost too large to ignore. She needed time away from the man to try and regain her strength. The next time she stepped into that room she wanted to have enough willpower and sense to be able to look at him without remembering how skillfully the man could kiss. Or how much she had liked it.
Gillanders moved away from the door and began to wash up. He would make sure no one tried to send him a new maid. Murdina was not telling the laird or his men anything she had seen. She had not even mentioned anything about how he kept the room as dark as a tomb. It was a weakness he should not have allowed her to see, but the fact that she had not shared that with anyone pleased him. They may have told her to spy on him, but she was not obeying them.
He also wanted to get her in his arms again, he thought and grinned. Her kiss had been sweet if inexperienced. The way she had trembled in his arms, leaned into him as the kiss had deepened, and had flushed with desire made him eager to continue his seduction of her.
A pang of conscience struck him as he dressed. There was a very good chance she was a virgin. It was not exactly kind of him to work so hard to steal what was her only dowry. Gillanders also knew that pang of conscience would not stop him from trying to do just that. He had never wanted a woman more.
A woman who was the cousin of Adeline—the much-loved wife of his cousin. He grimaced and cast a rueful glance at the door. He should tell Murdina that he knew exactly where Adeline Dunbar was. Unfortunately, to do that, he would have to confess that he was not who he had told everyone he was. Murdina was holding fast to any information she had about him, but he doubted she could hide the truth if she knew it. Murdina was no practiced liar. Egan or the laird would be able to see that she held some truth about him back with but one look at her very readable face.
As he headed down to the great hall, Gillanders swore that he would not leave Dunnantinny without telling Murdina about her cousin. When the thought of leaving without Murdina herself at his side caused him a sharp pang of regret, he softly swore. A woman twining herself around his heart and mind was not a complication he needed right now.
One step into the great hall was enough to have Gillanders wishing he could turn around or, even better, go home. Mistress McKee obviously did her best to keep it clean, but the laird and his closest men-at-arms were pigs. Not surprisingly, all the others in the great hall followed their lead. The smell of unwashed bodies was also strong. And, while Gillanders was able to eat food, even enjoyed it despite its inability to give him all he needed to survive, Dunnantinny needed a better cook.
He obeyed the laird’s call for him to join his table and tried to hide his weariness with the game he played. Gillanders was not finding out what he needed to know and doubted he would. The laird was an uncivilized brute in many ways but he was canny. Too many pointed questions and the man would grow even more suspicious than he was now.
Gillanders sat down, looked at the overcooked, greasy meat set on his trencher, and inwardly sighed. It was time to go hunting, he thought, as he smiled at the young boy serving him. He was just not sure he could do so without being discovered, but he needed something to keep up his strength, and he was tired of relying on only the blood-enriched wine he had brought with him.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Murdina slipping through the shadows at the far edge of the hall, heading toward the kitchens. She was a temptation he could not seem to resist. It was as if her allure and the one kiss they had shared had become a tether keeping him at Dunnantinny, at least until he could have more of her. He was either going to have to sate himself on her in his bed, or push her from his mind, if he ever wanted to get out of this place.
Then again, he mused with an inner smile, he could always take her with him. He had something she wanted, or rather, he knew where it was. The lure of family might just be enough to pull her along with him when he left. She did hold a strange allure for him, but he was well practiced in avoiding that. The ride to Cambrun would also be a lot more entertaining with her at his side. It was something he had to take some time to think about, without the fear that he might be getting tangled up too tightly with the woman. He shook her from his mind and concentrated on his host, still a little hopeful that the man would finally say something to make the long time spent at Dunnantinny worthwhile.
Chapter Three
The laird needed better spies, Gillanders thought as he stood upon the battlements, sipping mulled cider and watching the moonrise. He knew the laird and his men were Hunters, or worked with his clan’s enemy when the opportunity arose. He was also certain that they had the blood of his cousin Arailt on their hands, but even after nearly a fortnight of enduring the company of such men, he had yet to gather any proof of that. With each day that passed, there was less chance that he would gather that proof and an ever-growing chance that he could be the next MacNachton who never returned from a journey to this land.
It was time to leave. There could be no further business with Sir Ranald unless a swift meting out of justice was required. Gillanders wondered why he still lingered when even that small flicker of hope he had had over a sennight ago had faded. Then he cursed when his mind produced an image in response to his silent questioning of himself. Murdina Dunbar naked on his bed, her blood red hair a blanket beneath her fair, comely body, and her slim, strong arms open to receive him.
She was still why he lingered despite how all his instincts were shouting at him to leave. That both alarmed him and intrigued him. Gillanders knew it could just be because his lust for her was so strong, but he suspected it was more. The need to discover how much more, before his manly instinct to escape such a trap overtook him, was what held him at Dunnantinny.
“Enjoy the night, do ye?”
Gillanders sipped his mulled cider and looked at Egan as the man stepped up beside him. The laird’s two men, his right and left hands as Gillanders silently called them, had begun to shadow his every step. “ ’Tis a fine, clear night. Stars shining, the moonlight strong, the land quiet. Weel, at least it was quiet until now.”
Egan grunted, clenched his big hands into fists, and lightly pounded them on the top of the wall. “Aye, weel
, I am thinking ye like the night a wee bit too much.”
“Truly? Ye are thinking?” Gillanders knew the man badly wanted to hit him. Could scent the fury Egan fought to control. “And why wouldnae anyone like the night? Think, if ye are still in a humor to do so, of all one can do in the night that brings naught but pleasure.”
“Wheesht, if ye talk of tupping, ye can do that any time ye want.”
“Ah, I see. Weel, some of us like to do a wee bit more than shove a lass against a wall, toss up her skirts, and grunt o’er her.”
“Ye seem to have healed verra quickly. I thought the wound I gave ye was more than a mere scratch.”
“I have always healed quickly, and it was nay so deep, just bled freely. Ye need nay fear that ye did me any serious harm.”
It did not surprise Gillanders to see suspicion darken the man’s eyes. People did not heal as swiftly as he had. It was a wondrous gift, but one that could not be hidden well if it happened around others. Even Murdina had looked at him strangely, undoubtedly wondering why there was little sign of a sword cut on his body after so short a time. Fortunately, he was certain she had not shared that knowledge with anyone else. It was yet another reason, however, why he knew his time at this keep had to come to an end soon.
“Why are ye here? Ye talk fine, but naught happens save that ye eat our food, drink our wine, and bed our maids.”
“I havenae bedded a single maid.”
“Ye havenae settled anything with the laird, either. Talk, talk, and more talk. Nay more than that. Ye said ye wished to treat with us, for your clan, that ye thought we might be able to do some business with each other. Dunnantinny could use some trade, e’en an alliance or two, but I dinnae see that happening.”
Gillanders turned to face Egan directly and said, “I dinnae think ’tis your place to see anything. I deal with the laird, nay one of his men.”
He spoke with all the cold haughtiness of a prince. Gillanders knew that tone would have had his cousins and siblings rolling about laughing heartily and flinging insults at his head, but it worked to silence Egan. From the look in the man’s eyes, it also worked to enrage him, and Gillanders wondered just how he might pay for that later.
“Then mayhap ye can try harder to make me see,” said the laird as he stepped out of the shadows.
Giving the laird a charming smile, Gillanders then took another drink of his mulled cider. It gave him a moment to consider the laird’s skill at creeping up on a man. The more he considered the matter, however, the less he believed that he had been that unaware of his surroundings. Either the laird had already been close at hand, this meeting and inquiry by Egan well planned, or the man was blessed with some unusual skills as a hunter. Gillanders briefly savored the thought of getting the laird alone and forcing the truth out of the man. He was sure that Sir Ranald had had something to do with Arailt’s murder, and torturing the man a little to get the truth would help ease his grief over the loss of a good man. It was increasingly hard to continue to play games with the man, especially when Gillanders knew his time at Dunnantinny was fast running out.
“A decision might be reached more easily if one kenned exactly what terms needed to be met,” Gillanders said, breaking the taut silence.
“Just as terms can be set more easily when one kens exactly what may be gained,” replied the laird.
“Agreed. Mayhap ’tis time we spent more time talking with more serious intent and less in playing the games of courtesy.”
Gillanders then spent an uncomfortable few minutes arranging times for the more detailed talks the laird was pressing for. It felt as if hours had passed until he was able to get away from the man, because Gillanders had no real trade to offer the laird nor did he have any intention of arranging a treaty with such men. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep talking to the laird without actually promising or agreeing to anything.
Seeing a woman lurking near his bedchamber door as he approached it, Gillanders enjoyed a brief flare of anticipation, only to have it rudely doused when he realized that it was not the woman he ached for. It was the maid Jeanne. The maid had already cornered him several times since his arrival at the keep, offering herself to him. Despite the ragged state of her gown she had obviously made an effort to clean herself up this time. The unsatisfied knot of lust he carried around like added weight still did not respond to her blatant invitation to make use of her fulsome body. That hunger could be satisfied by only one woman. Gillanders did not like it, but he was not one to ignore the truth.
“What are ye doing here, Jeanne?” he demanded, his cold voice offering no hint of welcome.
“I but wish to ken if ye are weel served, Sir Baldwin,” she replied, smiling as she sauntered closer to him.
“Has someone suggested that I am nay pleased with the maid I already have?”
Her smile faded a little. Gillanders knew she had finally sensed his utter lack of welcome despite the vast amount of bosom she revealed to him, the neckline of her gown tugged down as low as possible without actually baring her breasts for all to see. He suspected she was rarely refused and lacked the wit, or was too vain to realize that that had little to do with her charms. Many a man would bed her simply because he had an itch. Gillanders admitted to himself that he might have, too, if his body was not itching for one particular redheaded woman.
“She suits me weel, but I thank ye for your concern,” he said. “Best ye get back to the duties ye have now.”
Jeanne’s smile completely disappeared. She was not so comely when she was angry, he decided.
“Ye do ken that she has been told to inform our laird of all ye do and say, dinnae ye?”
“Aye, the poor lass, ordered to bore the men each and every day with the tedious details of how I eat, sleep, and wash.” He stepped back from her. “If ye think to tell me that ye wouldnae be ordered to do the same, ye would be a liar.”
“Jeanne! What are ye doing up here?” demanded Mistress McKee as she marched up and grabbed the younger woman by the arm. “I hope she hasnae been troubling ye, sir.”
“I was but asking Sir Baldwin if there was aught he needed,” said Jeanne, trying to look innocent and subservient and failing miserably.
“Aye, I suspicion ye were. Go back to your work.”
The venomous look Jeanne gave the woman before striding away should have left Mistress McKee trembling in fear, but the older woman was clearly made of steel, mused Gillanders. He hoped the woman did not think he had lured Jeanne to his chambers. Mistress McKee ran the keep, and he got the best of all that could be offered to a guest. She could easily make his stay vastly uncomfortable if she became disappointed in him.
“ ’Tis nay your fault, mistress,” he said. “Ye are but one woman and cannae be expected to ken everything the many people under your guidance are doing every minute of every day.”
“Thank ye, sir. It can be most trying at times. Have ye need of anything else ere ye retire for the night? I can find Murdina for ye.”
“I wouldnae mind a wee bit more of this fine mulled cider, mistress.”
“ ’Tis a fine drink to end the day. That it is. I will see to it.”
After she left, Gillanders entered his bedchamber. He stoked the fire, shed his shirt, and sprawled in one of the large chairs facing the fire. It had been four long days since he had kissed Murdina, but he could still taste the sweetness of her mouth. She had become very adept at staying out of his reach, however. This time she would not slip away from him so easily. If naught else, he was eager to see if her kiss tasted as sweet to him a second time.
Murdina scowled at the door. She had been about to go to sleep when Mistress McKee had dragged her out of bed to bring Sir Gillanders some mulled cider. Just because the man liked to stay awake half the night did not mean everyone did. She could not sleep until the middle of the day as he did. She rapped on the door, wishing she could tell him just what she thought of his calling for drink at a time when most of the keep was sleeping soundly.
When she entered the room and saw him seated before the fire, flaunting his fine, broad chest again, she almost rolled her eyes. Her heart still pounded and her palms still itched with the need to touch him, but she was becoming more accustomed to the sight. It was not something she would ever become tired of seeing, she mused, but it no longer made her react like some shy child. The fact that there was no sign of any sword cut after but a short time of healing did trouble her a little, but she easily shrugged it aside. The man could be blessed with a stout constitution, and the wound might not have been as serious as some had thought it to be.
She could feel his gaze on her as she hung the small pot of mulled cider over the fire so that the drink would keep warm and scent the room with its spices. After filling a tankard, she turned to hand it to him and tried not to let her annoyance be banished by his smile. The man was too handsome, too skilled at beguiling a lass for his own good, and he knew it.
When she held out the tankard to him, he took hold of it by firmly wrapping his hand around hers. Not wishing to spill hot cider over both of them, she tried to carefully slide her hand free, but he held fast to her as he raised the tankard to his mouth. Murdina struggled not to fall into his lap and ended up tucked firmly between his long legs. There was a glint of humor in his eyes that made her long to hit him, but everything else about him told her that he was going to try and steal another kiss, maybe more.
Murdina wanted to order him to release her, to end all his seductive games for she was not a woman who could be had so easily, but the words would not come. She began to suspect she could be. Everything about Sir Gillanders drew her to him despite all the very sensible lectures she gave herself. Even reminding herself that he saw her as no more than some maid he could use and then toss aside did nothing to dim her deep attraction to him. A wicked part of her was nearly begging to be used.
“ ’Tis a fine cider,” Gillanders said as he tugged her even closer until her nose nearly touched his. “The blend of spices near as perfect as any I have ever tasted. Have ye e’er had a drink of it?”
Born to Bite Bundle Page 85