Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (14 page)

“We should get this to the Lady while it is still hot.”

Rowan swallowed. “Aye. Follow me.”

She led him up the turnstile stair, passing a landing on their way. He tried to look down the short corridor as they passed it but could not linger to take stock of what he saw.

At the top floor he followed Rowan into a large room that should have been used as a solar, but there was a large bed on the opposite wall. Lady Elspet slept in the midst of it. She was covered with several blankets and was so frail she looked more like a child than the wife of the chief. Jeanette rose from a stool set near the bed and took the provisions from him.

“Thank you for helping Rowan bring the meal,” she said, casting a questioning glance at her cousin. Rowan and Jeanette quietly arranged the food near the hearth. They exchanged a few whispered words that he could not make out, but if the looks that Jeanette kept sending his way were any indication, he was the topic. He smiled at her but she looked away.

As they returned to the door Jeanette said, “Where is Scotia?”

“She was in the great hall when last we saw her, holding court as best she could with the auld men and boys,” Rowan said.

“What are we to do with her? She shall get herself in trouble that even we cannot get her out of if she keeps on the way she has.”

Nicholas agreed, but did not say so.

“I cannot promise to keep her in line,” he said, “but have already offered Duncan my help in keeping an eye on her. He worries, too.”

Jeanette looked to Rowan for a decision.

“Duncan has always had a soft spot for Scotia, ever since she was a bairn, but he cannot keep an eye on her all the time any more than the rest of us can,” Rowan said. “Thank you. With Auntie so ill, we are all distracted from our usual tasks.”

“Like minding your cousin.” He shook his head. “I do not think she appreciates how much you all watch over her.”

“ ‘Appreciate’ would not be the right word,” Jeanette said with a rueful smile. “Detest? Hate? What do you think, Ro?”

“ ‘Hate’ seems right, but she tolerates Duncan and she might well welcome braw Nicholas’s attention.” Rowan was teasing him again and he felt a pull between them that was not overtly sexual, but was compelling nonetheless.

“I’ll watch my step, and hers.”

Jeanette placed an oddly calming hand on his forearm. “You are a good man, Nicholas of Achnamara.” She smiled at him. “I think ’twas a good wind that brought you to Dunlairig.”

Nicholas swallowed. She would not think so when he had finished his task.

A
S THEY REACHED
the bottom of the stair, Rowan reached for her cloak at the same moment Nicholas did, startling at the touch of his hand upon hers.

“Let me,” he said, plucking the heavy wool cloak from the hook and settling it on her shoulders with a flourish. He reached for the ties and tugged her close with them. The heat of his hands resting under her chin reminded her of when she was a child and Elspet would tie her cloak for her.

“She is as much your mother as theirs, is she not?” he asked, his head ducked so he could catch her eye.

“Aye. She has been my mother longer than my real mum was.” She allowed herself to rest her chin against his hands, stopping just short of rubbing against them like a cat.

“You lost both your parents at the same time?”

“I did. I do not remember much about that, though. I am told Kenneth found me wandering in the woods near our cottage and brought me here, but I do not remember any of that.” And no one had ever explained what had happened, not specifically, and she had only asked once. “I am told ’twas an accident and I was spared.”

He let his thumb run along her jaw and she could tell he watched the movement. “You were so young, it must have been hard to come here all alone.”

“You were young when you left your home, too. You ken how hard that is.”

“Aye,” he smiled but it was wistful and he looked as if he was seeing something other than Rowan, as if he looked back at that time. “ ’Twas the hardest thing I had ever done.”

“Exactly, but everyone here was very kind to me. Elspet and Jeanette especially, but it was Uncle Kenneth who tamed me.”

“Tamed you? I cannot imagine such a need.”

She laughed a little at the memory and he smiled so wide the creases in his cheeks showed deep. She reached up and ran a finger along one of them and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. A thrill ran through her. Here was a strong man who gentled to her touch like the mousers that lived in the stable. It was not something she could have imagined, nor the feeling of power that accompanied his reaction.

His hands still held the ties of her cloak and with them, he pulled her gently closer, until she was so close she could lean slightly and rest against his chest, which she did, letting the strength and heat and scent of him surround her. All thoughts left her mind as he leaned down, kissing her as he’d done before, gently, as if asking for permission. She closed her eyes and sighed, and he took advantage, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Instinct took over as she followed where he led down a sensuous path filled with the heat of his body, so close to hers, the taste of him, and that earthy scent that now spoke to her only of him.

An unfamiliar need raced through her and that same restlessness that had followed her out of her dream of him had her wanting more even as he gentled the kiss. He nibbled on her lips for a moment, then leaned his forehead against hers. As soon as his lips left hers, she became aware of the rapid beat of her heart and a sense of having been taken out of her body, then dropped back in, a different person than when she had started.

“I am sorry, Rowan.” His voice was raspy. “I should not have done that, but I could not keep myself from it.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip and she couldn’t stop herself from following its path with the tip of her tongue.

Her mind was racing. He was not the first man who had stolen a kiss from her, but never had she experienced a kiss that shook her so. She could not manage to speak, nor did she move. Why didn’t he move if he was sorry for kissing her? And it was then that she realized she had a firm grip on both of his arms. She took a deep breath and released him, stepping back until there was more space between them than she wanted.

“I am not sorry,” she said. She looked at the floor between them for a long moment. “I have been hoping you would do that again.”

She glanced up to see his reaction to her confession, only to find him grinning like a fool.

“You were, huh?”

She nodded quickly and knew her pale complexion was giving away her embarrassment. He stepped close again but didn’t touch her this time.

“So you might let me do that again?” he asked, the grin still on his face, but a more sober hopeful look in his eyes.

“Aye.”

He touched her cheek, running a finger down it as she had done to him, leaving a trail of sensation in its wake she would not soon forget.

“I would like that very much.” Her voice was breathless even to her own ears.

“As would I,” he said as he brushed her lips with his own one more time, lightly. “But I fear we must return to the hall before Duncan sends a search party after us.” He sighed and quickly tied her cloak, his knuckles sending ripples of joy against her skin. A smile played about his lips, lips that had been so soft against hers, lips that had roused such heat deep within her. And that damned restlessness.

“We should get back,” she said, looking deeply into his dark-brown eyes. Neither moved for a long moment, awareness crackling between them, until they both sighed and headed back into the rainy bailey.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, just after sunrise, Nicholas sat on the damp rubble amidst muddy puddles left from yesterday’s downpour. He hadn’t slept much, tossing and turning the night away. When he did sleep he dreamed of Rowan, of her soft skin and silky hair. In his dreams he kissed her, laughed with her, made love to her. In his dreams he betrayed her, and King Edward killed her and all the good people of the castle. In his dreams what started with kisses and passion ended in rivers of blood.

He thrust his fingers into his hair, scraping it back savagely from his face, and turned his thoughts away from his fractured dreams to the cause of them. Today the sun shone and Duncan had loosened his leash enough to give Nicholas a sense of freedom, though he knew it was only a pretense. He could see neither Duncan nor Uilliam but he’d wager a king’s ransom he was still being watched.

He’d finally gotten a look inside the tower last night. He’d spent much of the night, when he wasn’t dreaming, going over everything he’d seen, making sure he had a map of it firmly etched into his brain, for he had to return there, had to find that pouch that Lady Elspet had at the blessing. It might not be the Highland Targe, unless his prize was not an actual shield. He wouldn’t know until he got a good look at it.

This would be a good time for Archie to return, offering some distraction, and cover as a new stranger in their midst, to be watched, but the man wasn’t here, at least not inside the castle.

A commotion at the stable drew his attention away from his musings and the unexpectedly strong kick of his conscience over the consequences of completing his mission. A lad Nicholas had not met led a shaggy, saddled Highland pony to the tower door. The stableboy stood there, talking to the pony and scratching its forehead for long moments until finally the door opened. Scotia led the way. Next came Jeanette with Lady Elspet. Her great frailness gave harsh evidence of her ill health. Pale Jeanette held her mother, one arm wrapped around the woman’s waist, the other cupping her elbow, as if Lady Elspet would shatter should she so much as stumble.

Just as he began to wonder where Rowan was, she came out of the tower. She looked tired, or maybe it was concern that laid the
shadows under her eyes. She whispered something to Jeanette and Lady Elspet. Jeanette looked at her mother, but the Lady shook her head and nodded at the pony. Rowan squared her shoulders, her eyes snapped with anger but her chin quivered—perhaps with sadness, or perhaps with pique, he could not tell, but it made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss away whatever bothered her. The passion that had started with their kiss in the tower and then built in his dreams slammed into him and he fought the need go to her and kindle that fire again. His body rebelled, but this wasn’t the time.

There might never be a time.

He was surprised by a deep sadness that threatened to swamp him at that realization. There might never be a time, and it would be his fault, his responsibility, his treachery that made that true.

As he watched the women clearly preparing for an outing, he pushed away the distracting feelings seeing Rowan raised in him and focused on what the other women were doing.

He could not fathom where Lady Elspet would be going in her state of illness. She had clearly been overwhelmed from performing the blessing and had not left her solar since. He leaped off his rocky perch and strode over to the women, carefully
not
looking at Rowan lest his desire outwit his need for information.

As he arrived, the stable lad set a step next to the pony, and Jeanette and Scotia helped Lady Elspet to mount. Her cloak snagged on the back of the saddle long enough to reveal a quick glimpse of the ermine sack. Black-tipped white tails that hung from the mouth of the pouch flashed in the bright sunlight, a detail he had not noticed at the blessing. Jeanette quickly arranged the cloak around her mother, tucking it about her legs. Whether she did so to keep her mother warm or to keep him from getting a closer look at the pouch, he couldn’t say, but she accomplished both.

“Off so early in the morn?” he asked.

“We are off to visit Mum’s cousin,” Jeanette said, but she didn’t look him in the eye and Rowan busied herself with the plaid she carried, shaking it out before she and Jeanette settled it around Elspet. The three young women positioned themselves protectively around the Lady’s mount and moved slowly toward the gate.

The urge to reach out and touch Rowan’s hand, to hear her voice again, confounded him. He was no lovesick boy, but a man well used to the wooing of women without the trouble that came with having true feelings for them. But he could not shake the desire that threaded through every thought he had, every dream he’d had of Rowan.