It was no easy task to convince Margaret to accompany them to the cottage, but they finally did so. The hut was crowded, but the meal was filling and hot. Even Margaret, who stole morsels from her plate and fed them into her gown, seemed comparatively content after a few minutes.
It was dark when they trooped back toward the barn, carrying a horsehide blanket and lantern loaned by the farmer's wife. Glancing behind the building, Boden thought he caught a glimpse of a broken wooden wheel. They stepped inside, lantern in tow. The place was cozy and snug. The rain fell soft and quiet on the tile roof. Two goats bleated from the corner where they were tied. Tilly turned up her nose and resolutely ignored them as she chewed her cud near Mettle.
Hay was piled on the loft overhead. Sara nodded toward it. "You may sleep up yonder, lass,"
she said softly.
But the girl didn't move.
"Nothing will harm you," Sara assured. "Sir Blackblade will be here to watch over us."
The words were said with quiet confidence, and sent a shiver of painful pride through Boden, but it seemed to do little for the girl. She remained motionless, her gaze stuck on the babe in Sara's arms.
Silence for a moment, then, "I will put Thomas to sleep there. Mayhap, if tis not too much trouble, you might watch over him for me."
Still, the girl didn't move, but Sara stepped toward the ladder. Once on top, she rustled about, making a bed for the babe.
Margaret backed toward the horses and flickered her gaze between Boden and the loft.
He made no move, lest she fly like a panicked starling over his head, and soon Sara was back at his side.
"He is already asleep," she said to the disheveled child, "and will not need us for a while.
There is a burn just the other side of the house. Mayhap ye would like to bathe."
A fine idea, thought Boden, remembering her distinctive odor, but the girl didn't respond.
"Well, tis up to ye," said Sara. "But I will make use of the water while I may." She turned toward the door. "Sir Blackblade, might ye come along and make certain the bum is safe?"
Caught off guard, Boden raised his brows at her, but she only smiled and stepped into the darkness.
There was little Boden could do but turn down the lantern he'd hung on the wall and follow her outside.
They stood near the door in silence. Moments later they heard Margaret scramble, quiet as a woods creature, up the ladder to the loft.
Boden cleared his throat. "I suppose I can hardly return immediately now that your ploy worked."
Their gazes met in the darkness. "Twould surely frighten her," Sara agreed, and suddenly found that her breath had been stolen away, for he was close, within inches of her.
"Come, then, I'll walk you to the stream."
When they reached the water's edge, Sara turned and found him tense and silent as he looked down at her. A thousand wayward thoughts sparked between them, a thousand steamy images. He cleared his throat and looked away. "There's something I would speak to the farmer about," he said, and turning quickly on his heel, headed back to the house.
Sara watched him go. Disappointment lodged in her throat, but she refused to acknowledge it.
He was Lord Haldane's knight. He was not for her, she knew, but as she undressed in the dark, she felt the fingers of desire slip like smooth satin across her skin.
The water felt soft as lily petals as it rose up her legs. She waded in farther, then swam, letting the waves float over her. Her hair streamed across her back, caressing, teasing. Overhead, the beleaguered moon shone for a moment between tattered clouds, causing silvered images to dance on the rippled surface of the water. And there it seemed she saw Boden's face. His eyes were half closed, his lips curled up in that expression that was distinctly his. Hair as black as midnight seemed to move across the face of the stream.
But suddenly a movement caught her eye. She glanced toward shore and he was there in the flesh, as if summoned by her desire, his face shadowed, his body shrouded in darkness. She knew it was him, could feel it in the beat of her heart.
And suddenly nothing mattered. Life was short. Her time with him was shorter still. Soon they would part. Too soon. The words echoed in her mind, and without thought, without volition, she rose from the water.
Sweet Saint Stephen! Boden tried to turn away—to think. But all his blood had suddenly drained from his brain into other regions that demanded it more. So he lowered his expectations and simply tried to keep breathing as he watched her approach.
The moon, three quarters full, shone bright as a silver penny, gilding her face, caressing her breasts, falling like fairy dust on the freckles across her nose and cheeks.
And suddenly she was there, before him, like an angel.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed a finger to his lips.
"I know ye are a knight and vowed to loyalty," she whispered. "I know ye are true and strong and disciplined. But tonight. Just tonight, I need ye."
"A damsel in distress!" he murmured. "I can hardly refuse."
With a smile, she kissed him. Her touch was like a spark on dry tinder, burning up any hope of resistance. So he would lose his knighthood. So he would be ostracized. So he would be drawn and quartered. There were worse things.
He swept her into his arms, kissing her, caressing her, no more able to stop the embrace than he could stop the beating of his heart.
Her hands were warm and impatient, pulling, prodding, slipping the clothes from his body, and suddenly he was naked, too. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He moaned at the impact and deepened the kiss, savoring, loving, melting in her heat, in her desire.
"Boden!" Her tone was throaty, driving him wild. "Boden."
He drew away a fraction of an inch.
"Tis raining," she said.
And so it was. But who cared?
He kissed her again, but she slipped out of his arms, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into the water. It rose up to his knees. Fear coiled around his throat. He hated the water, but she was going deeper, and he could not stay behind. The stream lapped at his thighs, rose to his waist. Panic welled up, but still she went on. Waves washed across his ribs, and now he noticed that her breasts were nearly hidden beneath the surface.
"No farther," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I cannot bear to have your beauty hidden from me."
Their lips met. Panic faded. Desire roared within him. Her hands were everywhere, caressing, smoothing. Hot pleasure touched him where her hands ventured. Ecstasy waited.
He skimmed his fingers down her back, over her buttocks. She shivered beneath his touch and suddenly her legs were wrapped about his waist and he slipped inside her.
She enveloped him like a warm, velvet sheath. He tilted his head back, feeling as if he might explode, and pulled her more tightly against him. He heard her moan of pleasure, felt her nipples press hard and warm against his chest. The next moan was his own.
"Ahh, lass, what magic do you work here?"
She arched against him. "Tis ye that is the magician," she murmured. Her eyes were closed, her beauty surreal.
"Then let me make our worries disappear, if only for a moment," he said, and pressed into her.
Their rhythm increased. Desire had built to a crashing cascade, driving them on. She rocked against him. He pushed back. She moaned louder, pressed again, arched hard and tight against him.
He watched her face as ecstasy took her, and thus his own release could not be delayed.
For a moment, he thought his legs would give way, but the buoyancy of the water and his own freed spirit kept him upright. Her thighs loosened from around his waist. Her feet slipped to the sand, but he couldn't bear to be parted from her, and so he lifted her into his arms and bore her to shore.
The rain was still falling, not cold or unfriendly, but warm and soft, caressing them, binding them. He kissed her lips, and then, when the river water no longer cradled her hips, he let her feet slip to the earth.
They stepped out of the water, but when Sara reached for her clothes,, he couldn't bear to be separated from her even by a layer of cloth.
Retrieving his cloak from beneath the shelter of the tree, he wrapped it about them both, then grabbing their clothes, he steered Sara toward the barn.
The door creaked quietly open. They stepped into the soft circle of light. Mettle nickered. Tilly bleated, the mare munched hay—the quiet sounds of contentment.
Boden led Sara beneath the hayloft and spread the horsehide onto a corner of the floor where they could not be seen from the perch up above. No words were spoken as they lay down upon its soft warmth. And in the shelter of his cloak, he kissed her.
The tiny flame from the lantern offered them little light, and yet Boden's pleasure was not dimmed, for he could feel every curve of her delicate body, could taste the sweetness of her lips, and when her fingers brushed feather light across his chest, he let the feelings shiver into his soul. Finally there was nothing to do but love her again, soft and slow, bringing them both to ecstasy until she fell asleep in his arms.
He watched her from inches away, memorizing her every feature, etching every detail in his mind, her hair drying to golden glory, her face pale and soft, caressed by butterfly lashes.
She was his. If only for this moment, she was his. And regardless of the outcome—regardless of everything, he would keep her safe. Thus, he would do what he could to make the journey more pleasant for her.
Quiet as morning, he rose from her side.
Sara slipped through her dreams on gossamer wings. Boden's hands were warm and strong against her skin. Raindrops, water-lily soft, kissed her face as waves sloshed against her backside.
Pleasure washed gently across her. She was safe, she was warm, all was right with the world.
The baby cried again from above. Sara sat up with a start. Reality hit her hard. She was naked and alone, covered with nothing but Boden's abandoned cloak.
And Thomas was crying sporadically from the loft. Glancing quickly about, she scampered from her nest to find her clothes hung to dry on a nearby peg. She snatched them down and donned them with all due speed. The mare was still munching hay, she noticed, as she hurried up the ladder.
Thomas grinned at her from his bed, but she realized suddenly that Margaret was gone.
Panic washed over Sara. Snatching up Thomas, she rushed back down the ladder. Where was she? Had she run? Boden would find her. Sara pushed open the door, ready to call his name.
Mettle was there, tied to a ring in the wall. On the far side was Tilly and...
"Margaret." She breathed the name in relief.
The child lurched to her feet, spilling a few drops of milk she'd been pouring into the bladder.
"Margaret," she said, realizing immediately what was happening. Hearing the baby cry, the girl had hurried down the ladder, tied Mettle just so to keep Tilly happy, and made certain the mare was out of sight so that the nanny wouldn't feel threatened by her presence. "Ye meant to hurry and feed Thomas," she said. "Why?"
The girl stepped backward, her eyes wide.
"Do ye think we'll be angry if the babe cries? Do ye think we'll hurt him?" she whispered.
Margaret swallowed, her eyes wider still.
"We'll not hurt him, lass, as we'll not hurt ye." Sara took a step forward.
Margaret spun away.
"Please," whispered Sara, coming to a halt. "Can ye not trust me?" she asked. But now memories swooped in. The girl had little reason to think herself safe with Sara. Not after what she had seen. "I had no wish to hurt your mother." The girl turned back. "I am sorry. But I could not bear to see ye bartered off like..." She shook her head. Painful emotions tightened her throat. "I meant only to help."
The girl turned away again, but Sara called her back.
"Please, dunna go. I need help feeding the babe."
The child stopped, chewing her lip and debating. But Sara knew better than to wait for an answer. Striding back into the barn, she sat down on the horsehide where she'd slept and settled Thomas onto her lap. The spot was still warm.
The door creaked open. A tangled mass of hair appeared, and then a face, wide-eyed with fear.
Sara remained very still. Margaret crept forward, her small hands clutching the fat milk bladder.
"Sit down," Sara urged. It took Margaret a moment, but she did so, looking cautious and flighty.
"I must go find Sir Boden, if you're able to feed Thomas."
The girl chewed her lip. Sara rose slowly to her feet. The weasel peeked his nose above her neckline, then disappeared back under for an extended nap.
Every step Sara took, the child looked more nervous, but finally Sara was able to place Thomas in her lap. The tiny girl hunched her shoulders as if expecting a blow, but remained seated.
"You've seen me feed him," Sara said, indicating the milk bladder. "Do ye need my help?"
Margaret shook her head frantically and set the bladder to the baby's mouth.
He gurgled with glee and fell to feeding.
Sara's heart lurched. Her children. Her babies.
The door opened again. Margaret gasped in fear and glanced toward the noise as Boden stepped inside.
Sara's heart wrung with longing. Her family, if just for the moment.
"Good morningtide." Boden's husky voice felt as soft as darkness against her ears.
"Good morningtide," she said, unable for the life of her to think of anything else.
For a moment they were both speechless, and then, "The mistress sent this to break the fast." He lifted a basket covered with a loose weave woolen.
"We are in her debt," Sara said, and taking the basket, motioned to the straw some yards from Margaret and Thomas.
They dined on dark bread and honey, washed down by fresh goat's milk. The marten, ever hungry, slunk from Margaret's sleeve and darted over to steal a crust. Although Sara wanted nothing more than to sit in peace with her family, Boden soon rose, saying he would see to the horses.
Thomas fell asleep in a short while. Gathering the remainder of the meal, Sara brought it to Margaret and reached for the baby in exchange. For a moment, she thought the child might not give him up, but finally, she drew her small hands back and let Sara take him as she sat stiff as a board upon the chaff.
Though Sara was careful to keep busy and not look directly at Margaret, she knew the child ate as Sara strapped the baby to her back.
"Are we ready?'' Boden asked, stepping into the barn.
"Ye must ride the saddle this day," said Sara.
"Aye," agreed Boden, "and you shall drive the cart."
"Cart?" She stepped outside into the uncertain morning sunshine and stared in surprise as she saw Mettle hooked up to a humble, wooden tumbrel. "However did ye come upon that?"
"I found some wheels behind the shed. The farmer had no objections to me using it so long as I could salvage the parts."
"And the harness?" she asked.
"The harness I bartered for."
"But, why Mettle?'' she asked, eying the huge destrier bound to the humble cart. "Why not the mare?"
"She took objection to the idea."
Sara slanted her gaze up at him. "He is yer charger, sir, ye should not have to sacrifice him for us."
"Tis of little regard if it makes your journey more pleasant."
Pleasant? She skimmed her gaze to his. She had not expected this journey to be anything but arduous and yet, with him beside her, it was more than pleasant at times.
"My thanks," she murmured, and though she knew she was a fool, she hoped he would kiss her.
They stood unmoving. The barn door opened. Margaret stepped out.
Boden tore his attention away. "Mistress Maggie," Boden said, bowing slightly toward her. '
'Today you will ride in comparative comfort."
Margaret flicked her gaze nervously from him to the cart.
"Tis safe enough," he assured her. "Lady Sara and the babe will accompany you."
Still she seemed uncertain, but Tilly was not. Trotting up to the cart, she nibbled the straw that littered the floor and then hopped in, happy as a clam.
This must surely be the depths of humiliation, Boden thought. His sword had been broken. He couldn't walk without limping, and his noble steed had been reduced to cart horse status.
He watched in silence as Margaret finally scrambled aboard and Sara settled the babe in the child's eager arms.
Aye, the depths of humiliation—so why did he feel such elation?
Chapter 22
The morning slid slowly toward noon. Near a stream, Sara spied a wandering patch of dewberry bushes. While Boden unhitched the cart, she laid wee Thomas on a blanket in the shade and showed Margaret how to gather the fruit.
After a drink of sparkling water, the horses rolled in the sandy soil, then ambled onto the grass to graze.
Twas a lovely morning. The sun shone on a world of color so bright it all but hurt Boden's soul.
Untamed flowers grew in bunches of whites and yellows. The grass was green, the water silvery blue and the sky, a spotless expanse of azure. Evil seemed a million miles away, and Sara, laughing as she wiped juice from the corner of her mouth, shone like a jewel in this perfect setting.
Boden knew he should stay away, but the sight of her thus was too much to resist. Thus he wandered like a small, lonely boy to her side.
"Boden." She smiled up at him. "Here. Taste." Reaching up, she popped a berry into his mouth.
It was seedy and sweet, but the sight of her smiling face was far sweeter still.
"Another," she said, and fed him again.
It seemed only right, somehow, that he pick a few and feed her. It was sensual and soft, nearly touching, but not quite, until he felt he could not go another minute without pulling her into his arms.
"Sara." His voice was throaty when he reached for her, but she slipped away, turning her gaze to Margaret and thus warning him to be good.
"Hungry?" she asked, and picking another berry, tossed it at his mouth.
He caught it in his hand, and she laughed.
"Tis not how the game is played," she said. "Open yer mouth."
Foolery. And he was a knight. But God, her eyes were so blue. He opened his mouth. She tossed another berry. It grazed his ear.
The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) Page 26