Interest.
Desire.
His pulse ticked faster.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “The way yer blood builds hot in yer veins and how it thunders through yer whole body until ye want to scream with want of its release.”
“How does one release such pressure?” She wet her lips with her tongue. “With passion, I mean.”
God save him. He was actually having this conversation with a woman who planned to become a nun. He hesitated, uncertain how to properly answer without winding up in Hell.
Clara boldly released one hand from his, easing closer to him as they both sat on the mattress, and put her palm to his bare chest.
He should remove her touch from his person, he knew. Yet, he could not bring himself to do what he knew was right. “Ye’re to be a nun.”
Her hand moved lightly over his chest, skimming upward. “I’m not a nun yet.”
It was the second time she’d said that to him. And its impact was just as strong as a hammer of lust slamming into him.
“Why are ye joining the convent, Clara?” he asked. Surely it was not for piety or chastity, or she would not be regarding him with such inquisitiveness.
Her breath came out in a shaky exhale as her fingertips lightly brushed over his skin. He wanted to close his eyes and relish every tentative caress to hold tight to and remember forever.
“Are ye joining a convent for others or yerself?” His voice was deeper with the force of his longing.
She chewed the inside of her lip. “I’ve made the decision.”
“For whom?” he pressed.
She bit her lip. “To keep my family from worrying after me. To help in an abbey where they need a healer.”
“For everyone but yerself.”
She tilted her head in silent answer and shifted her touch lower, her fingers tracing down the shape of his chest muscle.
“And what of ye?” He asked. “What do ye want?”
This answer did not come as readily. Her brow furrowed as if she were uncertain how to respond. Or as if she did not want to.
“Have ye no’ ever thought about what it is ye want for yerself?” Before he could stop himself, his hand came up to caress her face.
Her lashes fluttered closed, and she drifted into his touch.
His body curled around her, drawn in by her allure, his face near hers, his heart thundering beneath that innocent, maddening exploration on his chest. “What do ye want, Clara?” he asked softly.
In response, she lifted her head and grazed her mouth to his. Lust shot through his veins like lightning, charging all of him with that simple, eager kiss. He lightly tugged her lower lip with his thumb and touched his tongue to hers.
Clara’s mouth parted and met his deepened kiss with an eagerness of her own. She gave a little moan that stroked his desire, encouraging him. This woman who had been so repressed, who never released her anger, her lust.
His fingers glided down the column of her throat and over her delicate collarbones. She leaned her head back, exposing her neck to him, which he kissed and licked until she was panting with delight. Her skin was smooth, her fragrance delicate and floral with the clean hint of the herbs she so often worked with.
Her hands roamed over his back, fingering cautiously from the expanse of his shoulders to his waist. His hands explored too, the flare of her hips, the fullness of her breasts. Each kiss, each caress, made his cock ache with need of her.
A need that would not be satisfied. Not when she was meant for the convent.
And yet, God help him, even that thought did not diminish his yearning.
Clara had never known kisses could be so all-consuming. She sat forward, leaning into him to be closer, to experience him more fully. His hands caught her waist and pulled her to him. Her legs spread over his hips as their bodies settled against one another. A hard column strained against his trews and rubbed at the aching need between her thighs in the most delicious way.
She arched toward him in a rhythm she didn’t have to think to set. Something innate inside her coaxed her toward him again and again. The same thing that made her tilt her head back as his lips brushed over her bodice.
His mouth teased over her neckline. Her nipples were taut with anticipation, pebbled and overly sensitive against the homespun wool of her kirtle. He cupped her breasts with his large hand and teased the pad of his thumb over the tight buds through her gown. Clara gave a hoarse cry of pleasure that filled their small room.
He slipped a finger into her bodice and eased it down so her breasts eased free. No sooner had the cold air washed over her skin than Reid’s lips closed around her pert bud, flicking his tongue, and warming her with the heat of his mouth. Pleasure needled through her. She gasped aloud with delight and clung to him as her hips continued to grind against his, each nudge of his arousal to hers more exquisite than the one before.
With a groan, he straightened and caught her mouth with his, his palms cupping her naked breasts.
This time when she cried out, it was his name on her lips.
He growled and put his forehead to hers as his hand tugged up her bodice before resting on her waist.
“What is it?” Clara asked.
His breath came in hard pants as he eased her from his lap. “Forgive me,” he said raggedly.
“Nay.” She stood on legs that did not feel they could support her. “I wanted it. I told ye that.”
He ran a hand through his auburn hair. “Ye plan to join a convent, Clara. I’ll no’ take yer innocence.”
Outside, the wind howled, and rain pelted the windows. The storm had not abated.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him then that she didn’t really want to join the convent, an insight she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge until this moment.
Her lips still hummed with the effects of his kiss, her breasts tingling where he had caressed and licked them, and a desperate, hungry pulse throbbed between her legs. But more than anything, her head spun.
What did she want?
To explore the passion that he had awoken in her.
Aye, but there was more.
To be loved.
The truth of it hit her with a poignancy that almost drew tears.
She wanted a husband to hold her at night as Reid had done the evening before when she had been wracked with cold. She wanted a home to keep up for her family. And she wanted children. Wee bairns she could cradle in her arms and breathe in their sweet, milky newness.
Something in her chest clenched with palpable longing.
It was a dream she’d spent far too long ignoring, one that had been too ridiculous to even consider before when there were so many others in her life who needed her. Which was why she had banished it from her heart long ago.
It had been better to focus on those she could tend to rather than set her focus on a dream whose lack of actualization might break her heart.
Until now…
Now, that hope bobbed to the surface.
Reid aroused in her more than carnal desire. He made her unearth the fantasy she’d once found so unattainable. Mayhap if she didn’t join a convent, if she opened her heart to him, he might do the same in return.
The idea of a small cottage with him might not be an impossibility after all - babes with his auburn hair, a loving husband who would wrap her in those strong arms every night and gaze at her as if she were the only woman in the world.
The longing for such a life was so visceral that it curled around her heart in a fierce grip.
“I dinna mean to cause offense.” Though Reid spoke softly, Clara still glanced up at the interruption to her thoughts.
She shook her head. “Ye didn’t.”
“Clara…” He searched her face with his perceptive gaze. “I shouldna have kissed ye, no’ because I regret it, but because…”
His jaw clenched and a hard knot of dread formed in Clara’s stomach.
“Because ye mean to take yer vows, and I want to respect yer
wishes.” He reached up and gently stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek.
It took everything in her not to turn toward the heat of his touch, to bask in the tingle of pleasure at even such a simple caress and how it made all of her ache with need.
“I’m attracted to ye, Clara.” He seemed hesitant to confess as much but continued, “Verra much so and have been since I saw ye at market day with Kinsey before she joined William’s army.”
She blinked in surprise, and Reid gave a sheepish smile. It was an endearing expression on so strong and hard a man.
And she had been the cause.
That realization struck her somewhere deep in her chest, a place she found had been empty for far too long. If he had noticed her nearly a year ago and still remembered her now, mayhap he might someday love her.
Mayhap her dream was within reach, after all.
Her hope was so great that it robbed her of her breath.
“But…” Reid let his hand fall from her face. “’Tis more than yer decision to be a nun. I havena any desire to marry, to settle down and have a home and bairns.”
Whatever had sprung to life moments ago in her wilted.
“I’m a warrior.” Reid shrugged uncomfortably. “’Tis what I’ve always been and what I’ll always be. I canna be a husband. And a lass like ye…” He looked at her as if it pained him to do so. “A lass like ye deserves a man who will provide her with a home, with a comfortable life and wee ones.”
“What if I wasn’t to go to a convent?” she asked numbly.
His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “I’ll no’ take either future from ye, regardless of where yer heart guides ye.”
She offered a smile to show she understood and that she appreciated his honesty rather than attempting to come up with a reply. After all, what could she say?
In a matter of moments, she had finally acknowledged her wish for a future, found hope that it might exist and then had it immediately quashed.
Outside, a massive gust of wind rattled at the thin walls of the inn, and a shiver ran down her spine.
“We should rest,” Reid suggested. “We must leave early, as long as there’s no’ any ice on the ground.” As he spoke, he regarded the floor where there was barely room for them both to stand at once.
The bed took up most of the small chamber. There wouldn’t be space enough for him to stretch out on the meager floor to sleep.
“We can both fit on the bed,” Clara suggested.
Reid cast a skeptical glance at the narrow mattress.
“But only if ye promise not to ravish me in the night.” Her words were intended to come out playfully but rang hollow instead.
In the end, he agreed to share the bed as long as they each were in their separate bedrolls, an agreement Clara hardened her heart to and complied with. He fell asleep quickly at her side, as she had anticipated due to the tea she’d had him drink before bed.
However, she remained fully awake, her gaze locked on the ceiling above her as too many thoughts raced through her mind. His quiet breathing was a backdrop to her musings of how her future might now take shape. There would be just a few more short days in the company of a man she found as fascinating as he was enigmatic, one who stirred in her the desire for a life as she had never even bothered to hope for. What followed would include their arrival in Dumbarton to ensure the people knew of the attack, and then she would make her way to Paisley Abbey and…what?
Live out her life in the service to others, remembering these few days with fondness.
Aye, that seemed to be the truth of it.
Outside, the wind battered the rickety inn with such a howl that goosebumps prickled over her skin. It was then that Reid rolled toward her in his sleep and curled an arm around her, drawing her back against him and his solid heat.
She ought to nudge him to roll away or wake him and ask him to release her.
Instead, she closed her eyes and gave in, for that one brief moment, to the fantasy that he truly was her husband and that they were asleep in a cottage with their child sleeping nearby. That her life was complete. That her life was happy. She fell asleep to that dream, simultaneously cherishing that precious moment while also dreading the next day when she had to wake up and face the reality of her situation once more. Because there would be no love for her in this life. Nor a husband or a family.
There had never been, and there never would be.
7
Reid woke the following morning to a bundle of warmth in his arms. Not just any bundle of warmth.
Clara.
Her back was nestled against his chest, her head cradled against his shoulder, his arm wrapped about her waist. The delicate, clean scent of herbs tickled at his senses. Her smell.
He inhaled deeply, appreciating her simple perfume and the way it made his body flood with energy. How many times had he fantasized about this moment?
Almost every day since he’d seen her at the village market. He’d imagined her glossy, dark hair cool and smooth against his chest; her lithe body pressed to him as she slept, her face serene and so lovely, it made something inside his chest burn. The reality of such a thing was far greater than the fantasy. And yet, far more painful.
Being with her would not change his inability to settle into life as any normal man would do. Especially not when he had yet to find Lord Rottry.
The English baron was the reason Reid never pursued more information on her, why he never allowed himself to be given over to love. Not when there was vengeance to be had, and certainly not when he knew how easily it all could be snatched from him. There would be naught for them in the future but heartbreak, and he could not do that to her.
Still, it did not stop him from remaining abed a few moments longer, allowing his musings to carry him away. In his mind, his restlessness had calmed, and he owned a fine cottage, a protective stone one like Clara’s family had built in Castleton, the type of home a woman like her deserved. And in that home, they had a happy life together. She, as his wife, with her tender smile and her stunning beauty.
He brought her even closer, savoring the idea, savoring her. She gave a little hum of contentment in her sleep and something in his chest broke. He could not allow himself the pleasure of fantasy anymore. Not when it caused so much hurt to do so.
Without any further delay, he pushed up from the bed. No good would come of dreaming about what could never be.
“Reid,” Clara said sleepily from the small bed they’d shared.
The heat of her body against his had already cooled in the chilled morning air. He tossed a couple of logs into the hearth where the embers scattered about, and the dry fuel quickly caught fire.
“If we hurry, we might have time to break our fast with hot food before we depart.” He hadn’t meant to sound gruff, but it came out as such.
She rose from the bed and padded toward him in stockinged feet. Her braid had come undone in the night, and her hair fell in loose waves down her back like a curtain of silk. “How is yer back?”
He wanted to gather her tresses in his hands and let them slide through his fingers.
Damn it.
“Yer herbs seem to be helpful,” he replied honestly. The wounds hurt, but not as they had before.
“May I see yer injuries?” She moved around behind him, and he lifted his leine for her.
Her fingers swept down his back, her touch careful. Reid closed his eyes, giving in to the temptation to relish her caress while she could not see his expression.
“So long as ye don’t go doing anything foolhardy, ye should continue to heal.” She withdrew her hands from him as he let his leine fall into place.
Reid glanced over his shoulder at her. “Me? Do something foolhardy?” He couldn’t help but grin.
She shook her head at him in warning, but her eyes sparkled playfully. There was a lighter side to her that he found he enjoyed as much as he did the parts of her that were compassionate and giving.
They hurried
through their morning ablutions that consisted of little more than a damp linen and water from the ewer on a narrow table by the door. Clara sprinkled a few herbs on her linen, which left the air scented with something floral and pleasant. She plaited her braid once more, and they made their way down to the tavern below.
They broke their fast on pottage, a thick gruel that tasted of nothing but was hot enough to send curls of steam rising from their bowls and sat warm in their bellies. The meal would be a perfect start to what would be a cold day of hard riding, something to stick to their ribs and keep hunger at bay.
While they ate, Clara’s attention slid to a man with rusty-white hair. The Scotsman was boisterous and surrounded by men who were only slightly quieter than himself.
“Do ye know him?” Reid asked.
Clara nodded. “I believe I might be able to acquire some troops to help protect the people of Dumbarton.”
Reid returned his attention to the man with renewed interest. He was dressed in a fine gambeson and breeches that appeared to be good quality, and the hilt of his sword glittered with a couple of gems. A man with money and men could be a boon for Dumbarton in such trying times.
“Who is he?” Reid asked.
“The Chieftain of the Ross clan,” Clara said.
Reid startled at the familiar name. William had told him Kinsey was the old chieftain’s granddaughter, which meant…
“Aye,” Clara said as though reading Reid’s thoughts. “He’s my grandda.”
Approaching the Chieftain of the Ross clan was no mean feat. Clara’s nerves clattered as she neared the man who had created a massive rift within her family for so many years.
It wasn’t only that he had abducted Faye and forced her to wed a man she didn’t know, a man who thankfully was not part of the plot and with whom she fell in love. But there was also the open hurt of whatever it was Clara’s grandda had done to her mother. Something Mum refused to speak of.
Clara’s legs were numb as she crossed the short distance to her grandda. He threw his head back and laughed out loud at something someone in his party had said. But his mirth died as his sharp green eyes settled first on her, then on Reid behind her.
Clara’s Vow Page 6