True Highland Spirit (21 page)

“Give him some time. I think he is shy.”

Morrigan shook her head. “Nay. Something is going on, but I canna make out what.”

Later that afternoon Morrigan and Dragonet were alone in the solar together. It was most likely not proper, but unfortunately nothing untoward was occurring. Dragonet remained the height of politeness and respectability. Morrigan mentally cursed his propriety.

What did a lass need to do to get a little ravishment? At Morrigan’s request Alys had squeezed her into a kirtle and laced the surcoat up tight, revealing more cleavage than ever before. On the matter of the earlobes Alys refused to budge, hiding them respectably behind a veil, but the veil itself was made of fine lace. Alys reluctantly agreed to allow her hair to flow freely down her back.

Morrigan pushed back a strand of hair as she studied the chessboard. They were playing again, and she was tired of losing.

“Check,” she said slowly, considering her options. It appeared Dragonet was in a bad position, but then it often seemed that way right before he won.

He moved his king out of check. Morrigan considered her next move with increasing excitement. Could it be?

Morrigan made one final move. “Checkmate.”

Startled, Dragonet stared at the board like he was seeing it for the first time. He gave her a wry smile and knocked over his king. “Well played.”

“I won!” Morrigan smiled. “I have ne’er seen ye play so poorly. I hope ye are no’ falling ill.”

“No, not ill. Forgive me, but I was distracted by your new look today.”

Heat ran up the back of her neck and flushed her cheeks. “I needed to do something to gain an advantage over ye.”

“Well played indeed!” Dragonet laughed.

“Do I win a boon?”

“Yes, I am yours to command.”

Ravish
me!

Morrigan blushed again at her own thoughts. Did she dare ask once again for a kiss? Across the small table, Dragonet’s blue eyes blazed. He brushed back his straight, black hair that fell across his left eye. His full lips drew her. She wanted his kiss more than she had ever wanted anything.

“Teach me a new song?” asked Morrigan sweetly.

“But of course!” Dragonet went to fetch his lyre, and Morrigan cursed her stupid self for being so craven.

Dragonet sat on the stone bench carved into the wall by the window. The light was better there so Morrigan could find her fingering. He had taught her several songs, and she enjoyed playing the lyre again. His in particular was a fine instrument. And sitting next to him was a fine thing, too.

Morrigan sat next to Dragonet, wondering how she might entice him to kiss her. A practiced flirt could no doubt achieve her object readily, but she was not practiced in such arts.

“Which song would you like for me to play?” asked Dragonet, handing her the instrument.

Kiss
me,
ye
fool.

“I dinna ken. Something romantic.”

“Romantic.” Dragonet said the word slowly, causing more heat to crawl up her back. “There is the ballad of Tristan and Isolde.”

“Did that not end poorly for the lovers? She was wed to King Mark, was she not?”

“Yes.”

“Do ye ken any ballads o’ love where the lovers have a happy ending?”

Dragonet thought a moment. “Well, there is King Arthur and… no that did not end well. How about…” Dragonet shook his head. “In truth I can think of none.”

“There should be at least one ballad where the lovers were allowed to wed and live together in happiness.”

“According to the French court, true love can only exist outside of marriage.”

“That is stupid,” said Morrigan in her ever-so-tactful manner.

“Indeed.”

“Why can lovers no’ marry and be happy?”

“I wish it could be so.” Dragonet turned to look out the window, but Morrigan had glimpsed the look of despair. Why was he so unhappy?

“It is snowing again,” commented Dragonet. “Do you ever go out in it?”

“Not if I dinna have to.”

“When I was young we got very little snow. The few times it fell it was like a holiday. We all ran out to play in it and throw the snowballs. We would gather it up and eat it like a treat.”

“’Tis wet, cold, and abundant in the Highlands. But when I was verra young, I do remember playing in the first snowfall. After a while it gets tiresome. And cold.”

Dragonet turned back to her with a smile, cocking his head to one side. “I am trying to picture you as the young girl having fun.”

“Dinna strain yerself.”

Dragonet laughed. “Forgive me, but you do not play much now.”

“I play! Did I not play a hundred games of chess wi’ ye?”

“And you enjoyed it so much you complained though every game.”

“Ye are one to accuse me!” declared Morrigan, going on the offensive. “Name one thing ye do for your own amusement, no’ for the entertainment o’ others, no’ to be polite, but simply because ye enjoy it.”

“I enjoy playing the lyre, even when there is no one but me to hear it. I enjoy speaking with you, even when you look like you want to hurt me.”

“Verra predictable answers. Debatable and dull. I pray ye would say something to astonish me.”

“Astonish you? Let me think. When I was a child, I would go into the hills behind my town in search of caves. I had been told the story of large, black bats that lived in the caves, and I wanted to see them. I searched and searched and finally found a cave, but alas, no bats. My cave, it was actually more of an indentation, hardly a cave at all, but I returned there many times, just in case a wayward bat decided to move in.” Dragonet brushed his hair from his eyes. “There now, have I astonished you?”

“Mildly amused perhaps.”

“Do you have any natural caves in these parts?”

“Aye there is one, a large cave wi’ many tunnels. We were no’ allowed to go in it when we were children, lest we get lost.”

“Sounds intriguing; maybe you could show it to me.” Dragonet leaned toward her, giving her his full attention. Her heart skipped along merrily.

“Nay, too cold this time o’ year.”

“Was it St. Jerome who translated the Bible while living in a cave?”

“St. Jerome dinna live in the Highlands.”

Dragonet laughed. “Dare I ask if there are bats in your cave?”

“I dinna ken. I am no’ fond o’ caves overmuch. Or bats.”

“Is this cave nearby?” Dragonet’s eyes were shining. This was the most excited she had seen him in a while. He must really like bats.

“Nay. ’Tis near the village of Kimlet on the shores of Loch Pain, by where the river empties into the loch.”

“I would like to see it.”

“Nay. ’Tis a creepy old cave wi’ many tunnels. I’ve heard o’ folk getting lost in that cave, some ne’er returned. Dinna go there, ye ken?”

Dragonet gave her a broad smile. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For your concern. And now I believe I am to play a song for you.” Dragonet plucked out a jaunty tune on the lyre that had Morrigan smiling and tapping her toe.

“Could ye teach me that one?” asked Morrigan when he was finished.

“Certainly.” He handed the lyre to her and put his left arm around her to show her the fingering. She liked that part the best and was often a slow learner, so he had to show her several times.

Dragonet showed her the fingering, and she purposely botched it. “Could ye show me again?” she asked, looking up at him through her lashes. He leaned closer and complied. Her heart was pounding so loud she could not hear anything he did. His arm was warm around her shoulders, his side pressed close to her. When she turned to him, their faces were dangerously close.

The air crackled between them, and Morrigan leaned closer, unable to resist. His breathing was shallow and rapid. However distant he may act, he was not unaffected. He reached up and touched her hair, twisting a thick strand around one of his long fingers. Morrigan inhaled sharply at the intimacy of the gesture. In one bold move, Morrigan removed her veil.

“
Ma
chérie.
You are so beautiful.” For the first time in her life, Morrigan felt it was true. Dragonet threaded both his hands in her hair, massaging her head. She closed her eyes and arched her back, trying not to groan in delight. He pulled her closer, one hand moving to her back, the other still wrapped in her hair. She pulled him tight with one hand, the other still holding the lyre.

When she opened her eyes again he was very close, his full lips begging to be kissed. She wanted him but paused, waiting for him. She did not wish to always be the one to initiate. Would he kiss her?

He moved slowly forward until his cheek touched hers. Just as she was swallowing her disappointment, he turned and kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then her earlobe. He kissed her softly then drew her earlobe into his mouth and gently suckled, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

“Oh!” she breathed.

He pulled back, his eyes wide. “Bad?”

“Good!” She pulled him back, but he resisted.

“I am sorry, but I want to… to…” Suddenly he pulled her close, crashing his mouth into hers. He was not gentle or slow, but passionate and urgent. He plundered her mouth with his as if he could not get close enough. She opened herself to him and gave as good as she got.

“Well now, I thought a spot of something hot might be nice on a cold day like this,” said Alys, entering the room with a tray of food and drink before her.

Dragonet jumped away from Morrigan as if she was on fire. Truth be told, she almost was.

Alys placed the tray on the table and looked up at them, her naturally rosy cheeks growing redder. “Ah, well. I see. Verra good. Much too busy to stay. Carry on wi’ whatever ye were doing. Canna stay. Winna be back for a long time.” Alys turned and hustled from the room. Despite her embarrassment, she could not help turning at the door and giving Morrigan a wink before shutting the door behind her.

Dragonet stood and pushed his hair from his eyes with both hands, muttering something in French. He turned back at her, his eyes desolate. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I beg your forgiveness.”

“Nay, ’tis naught to forgive.” Morrigan’s body trembled from the shock of intimacy and its sudden removal. She remained seated on the bench, her legs too unsteady to rise.

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” He bowed and fled for the door.

Morrigan stared at the open doorway wondering what had happened and how it had gone from so good to so wrong. She put her head in her hands. One thing was clear. She was again alone.

Dragonet smacked his head with the palm of his hand. How could he be so colossally stupid? Just as he found the information he needed, he fell victim to his own carnal desires and kissed her. No, not a kiss. What he did couldn’t be considered a kiss. He had mauled her, desperately trying to pull her closer. He was not sure if he was trying to kiss her or consume her.

It was bad enough that he had kissed her again. But to kiss badly? It was inexcusable. What must she think of him? Was she laughing at him? She must be telling Alys how he had lost control and tried to eat her.

Dragonet groaned and collapsed on his bed. He should leave. Maybe if he snuck out at first light, he could avoid the inevitable confrontation. And laughter, as she would no doubt mock his futile, immature, pathetic, adolescent, attempts at passion.

The only alternative was even worse. If she actually welcomed his inexperienced attentions, then he should offer marriage immediately. Any true knight would go to her brother and arrange terms. But of course he was no ordinary knight, and marriage was the one thing he could not offer.

If her heart was engaged even a fraction as much as his, he was going to hurt her. It would hurt to leave, but he must. He knew he would live the rest of his life in love with her, grieving the loss of her company. He did not wish her to suffer the same.

He must leave on the morrow and hope for her mockery. Could he ever make it right? He sighed and put his hands over his eyes. It could never be made right. He was wrong to tarry so long. He must return to his quest.

***

Morrigan paced in the solar, waiting for Dragonet. They had shared the feast of Epiphany together with her clansmen, but in the crowded hall one could not say anything of importance. She had spent the meal trying to guess at his feelings toward her, and her emotions were raw from the effort. Did he dislike her kissing? Was he not attracted to her? Was he merely shy? She did not know whether to act cool and distant or warm and encouraging. Her heart was on the verge of elation or heartbreak. If only she knew which one.

Dragonet entered the room slowly, his eyes lingering on the sword she decided to strap on after the meal. She did not know how the conversation would proceed, and she wanted to be prepared for all options.

“Enjoy yerself tonight?” Morrigan asked. It was a cautious beginning.