Highland Destiny (5 page)

As he deepened the kiss, she curled her arms around his neck and pressed closer to him. The tremor that went through him spread to her own body. It astounded and alarmed her that one simple kiss could so enflame them both. The thought that they were behaving no better than animals in rut crossed her mind and cooled her passion slightly. Before she could grasp control of herself, however, Balfour slid his hand up her rib cage and over her breast. He brushed his thumb over her nipple until it hardened, pressing painfully against the worn linen of her chemise. The feelings that spread through her left her gasping for air and sanity. The latter proved to be unattainable.

Balfour slowly moved her around until her back was against one of the partially erected walls of the unfinished tower. She knew he was unlacing her gown, but could not muster up the will to push him away, almost aiding him as he tugged her bodice down until it hung in a lump at her waist. His unsteady fingers brushed her skin as he unlaced her chemise. She found the strength to murmur a
nay
, but he kissed away her halfhearted protest. Maldie knew that she lacked the strength to shove him away from her, that she was allowing him such freedom because her skin ached for his touch.

When he opened her chemise the cool afternoon air brushed her skin, chilling her. Then Balfour kissed the soft skin between her breasts and the warmth returned. Maldie sighed her pleasure, threading her fingers through his thick hair, as he gently traced the full shape of her breasts with light kisses. When he enclosed the hardened tip of one breast in his mouth, teased it with his tongue, and then began to suckle, Maldie heard someone groan. It was a moment before she realized that that sound of blind greed had come from her own throat. Then she gave herself over completely to the desire Balfour stirred within her.

It was the sweet sound of children laughing that finally brought Maldie to her senses. She became painfully aware of where she was, that she was half-naked, and that the air was cool on her skin, so quickly she was robbed of breath for a moment. An inarticulate curse escaped her, and she started to push Balfour away only to realize that he had already begun to release her. As she fumbled with the laces on her chemise and gown, she tried not to think on how well he had sensed her change of mood. She forced herself to think not only of how close she had come to losing her innocence outside, against a wall, but steps from a crowded bailey, and how furious that made her, at herself and at Balfour.

Balfour pressed his body against the chill, damp stone of the partially built wall as he watched Maldie fix her gown. It did little to cool the heat in his blood. He had sensed
the moment she had shaken free of desire’s grip and used all of his willpower to let her go. Knowing that he had done the right thing did not ease the aching want twisting his insides, however. He did not feel noble, just starved for more of the passion they could share. The look of anger settling on her still flushed face told him that it could well be a very long time before he got another chance to taste that passion.

“I am nay better than some witless hedgerow whore,” Maldie grumbled as she vainly tried to put some order into her badly tousled hair.

“Nay. A hedgerow whore feels naught,” Balfour said as he slouched against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he fought the urge to reach for her. “She just lies there, enduring, and waiting for ye to press a coin into her palm.”

She bit back the urge to ask him how he knew so much about whores. “At least that serves some practical purpose. ’Tis clear that I am prepared to open my legs for no more than a bonny smile.” Maldie was so disgusted with herself, so disappointed by her own weakness, she realized that she had no time or inclination to be embarrassed by what had just happened. “I am no better than my poor mother. I rush to repeat her folly.”

“As I seem to rush to repeat my father’s. Or so I thought. Howbeit, I have never acted in this way before, have ye?”

“Of course not.” Maldie knew she ought to leave before Balfour said anything else. The man had a true skill at speaking simple truths, ones she could not deny.

“Weel, my father bedded any wench who would allow it for miles around and claimed to love half of them. ’Tis a wonder that Donncoill doesnae swarm with his bastards. I have e’er fought hard to keep my blood cool and my head clear. And your mother’s folly?”

“She bore me.”

“I dinnae see that as a folly,” he said softly.

“Oh, but it was. I am the bastard child of a mon who didnae feel bound by his marriage vows.” She had to sharply bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying anything else about her father, surprised at how Balfour’s soft look made her feel compelled to tell the truth. “The way he left her alone when he got her with child should have made her wary, but it didnae, not for a long time. Aye, she loathed him, yet it didnae seem to stop her from thinking that the next mon would be different. In some ways they were. Most at least gave her some coin or a few gifts. At some time, she ceased to care or feel, simply took the money.”

“I cannae believe ye would ever become like that.” Balfour inwardly cursed, for, although he felt a deep sympathy for the sad life she had had to endure, he also saw how it could give Maldie the strength to fight the passion that flared between them. “Ye are too strong.”

“My mother was a strong woman.” Even though she spoke firmly, Maldie realized that she was no longer so certain of that. “She was brought low by a mon, used and cast aside, twisted by his heartlessness until she grew as heartless as he. No mon will drag me down. I will heed no lies nor be the loser in some mon’s game.”

“And I neither lie nor play a game. What flares between us, lass, is heady and sweet. Aye, and methinks it may be stronger than both of us.”

“Nay. ’Tis but a heedless thing, nay more than what possesses the forest beasts in rutting season. I willnae let it win.”

Balfour sighed and watched her walk away. There was nothing he could say to
change her mind anyway. He now believed that he and Maldie shared far more than his feckless father had shared with any woman, including his mother. What flared between him and Maldie was fierce and went deeper than lust. He was not sure, however, if it was fate, one of those rare, blinding passions most men dream about but never taste, or the first stirrings of love. Neither did he know exactly what he wanted of Maldie beside bedding her, so he could make her no promises. She would easily sense his uncertainty if he tried to discuss what they felt. It could even make her think he was lying to her just to gain what he wanted. It was hard to put the ring of truth behind one’s words when one did not know what the truth was.

They were at an impasse, he decided as he slowly made his way back to the keep, a cold, sleep-robbing impasse. Both of them feared repeating the mistakes of their elders. Maldie would lose her chastity if she succumbed to the passion they shared and, quite often, that was all the dowry a poor girl had. He could not, at least not yet, offer her any more than an equal passion. With Eric’s life at risk and a battle looming, it was not the time for him to make any promises to any women, especially to a poor fatherless girl who held close to too many secrets. Balfour sighed again. It began to look as if Maldie was the only one who could solve their dilemma. She was the one who would be risking all for passion. Balfour just wished that he would be given a few more chances to show her what she would deny herself if she turned him away. But, after today, he would be very surprised if Maldie let him within shouting distance.

“What are you doing, ye great fool?”

Maldie could not believe the sight that greeted her as she stepped into Nigel’s room. She had been gone barely an hour, and it appeared that relaxing her guard for even that short a time had been a mistake. In the week since Balfour had nearly succeeded in seducing her, she had gratefully found herself diverted by the battle to keep Nigel from trying to do too much too soon. Looking at him standing there, a young maid unsteadily supporting him as he tried to walk, Maldie did not feel so grateful anymore. Although there was little chance of him opening his wounds, the man could easily and permanently cripple himself.

“Jennie, is it?” Maldie asked as she moved to take over the pale girl’s place supporting the trembling, sweating Nigel.

“Aye, mistress.” Jennie grimaced and absently rubbed her lower back.

“I ken that this fool can be sweet and cajoling,” she ignored Nigel’s muttered complaints over her insults as she urged him back to his bed, “howbeit, ye are to ignore his pleas or commands to help him to walk.”

“But, mistress,” Jennie hesitated at the door, watching a softly cursing Nigel with wide eyes.

“If ye fear disobeying the laird’s own brother, dinnae worry o’er it. I can speak to Sir Balfour and he will readily repeat my command. This fool isnae supposed to be up on these wee, spindly legs unless I say so.”

“Spindly?” Nigel muttered, as Jennie fled the room and Maldie got him comfortably arranged on his bed.

“Ye wish to be crippled, do ye?” Maldie asked, putting her hands on her hips as she stared down at the man.

“Nay, of course I dinnae wish for that. I will be, howbeit, if I dinnae get my strength back.”

“Ye were badly wounded, lost a great deal of blood, and suffered a long, fierce fever less than a fortnight ago. Ye cannae expect to be up and dancing so soon. ’Tis necessary to let your whole body recoup the strength it lost, to renew the blood that poured out of you and make it hearty again. That requires rest and food.”

“I at least feel hale enough to
try
and walk again.”

“Aye, that is clear enough to see. What can also be seen is that when ye stand up ye sweat and tremble like a man with the ague. ’Tis your body telling you that ye arenae ready at all. Heed it or it will make ye pay dearly for disobeying it.” She moved to pour him some wine.

“Ye make it sound as if my body has its own life and rules, seperate from what my mind says.”

“It does.” She handed him the goblet of wine, frowning when she saw how he had to hold it with both hands because of the faint tremor in his arms. “I think ye have wit enough to ken that your body is now telling you that ye have been verra foolish indeed.”

Nigel groaned and tried to thrust the goblet at her, but lacked the strength for such a forcible gesture. He was barely able to hold it out to her with only one unsteady hand without dropping it. “If I must lie abed for verra much longer I may weel be strong enough to walk again, but I will also be drooling mad.”

Maldie had to smile as she put the goblet away and gathered a bowl of water and
rag to wash him. “I ken weel how maddening it can be to do naught but lie abed, your mind alert but your body too weak to act upon your wishes. ’Tis why I say ye must heed your body. I cannae say it strong enough or often enough.” She began to lightly wash the sweat from his body. “I ken that people think I speak nonsense when I say your body tells you things, but it does. When ye stood up didnae your head swim, didnae ye sweat from head to toe, and didnae ye tremble? That, my fine knight, was your body saying, in the strongest way it could, to get back into bed and get some more rest.”

“’Twould be nice if it had my mind give me such a warning ere I put foot to floor,” Nigel said, smiling faintly.

“Ah, true, but the mind is a contrary thing. It doesnae always lead us in the right direction or tell us the truth. And, no matter how sharp-witted we are, we can often allow it to lead us astray. Surely ye have thought of things that were neither wise nor safe and, worse, acted upon them.”

“Oh, aye, and one’s cursed mind doesnae have the courtesy to let ye forget such blunders.”

Maldie’s laughter caught in her throat as she became aware of the fact that the body she was washing was not as completely drained of strength as she had thought. There was certainly one part of Nigel’s body that revealed no difficulty at all in standing. She had suspected that Nigel desired her, but seeing the stout proof of that tightening the front of his braies left her feeling embarrassingly flustered. She stood there, staring, unable to decide what to do next. There was only one thing she was sure of, and that was that she had just lost all chance of pretending that she had not noticed anything.

“Weel, ’tis some comfort to ken that I havenae been completely unmanned,” Nigel drawled.

That piece of impertinence was just starting to pull Maldie free of her shock when she had the damp rag yanked from her hand, and a familiar deep voice said, “I believe the time has come for another to assume the duty of washing my brother.” Balfour nudged Maldie away from the bed. “I am sure Mistress Kirkcaldy can find other things to do.”

“But, Balfour, the lass and I were just having a fascinating discussion about how one should always heed what one’s body tells it.”

Maldie heard Nigel grunt with pain, but could not see around Balfour to judge why. She was tempted to tell Balfour to go away, irritated by the way he was shoving her aside and taking over her duties, as well as telling her what she could or could not do. Then wisdom prevailed over pride. Nigel desired her and was obviously well enough to reveal that with more than a look or weak touch. It was undoubtedly best for both of them if she ceased to take care of any of his personal needs now. Bathing him could easily lead to a confrontation she would prefer to avoid.

“I will go and fetch his meal,” she murmured and made a quiet, somewhat hasty retreat from the room.

The moment the door shut behind Maldie, Balfour tossed the rag aside and glared at his brother. He struggled to control his anger, one he knew was born of an unreasoning jealousy. When he had entered the room and seen Maldie bathing Nigel, he had felt the usual pang of envy. The moment he had seen Nigel’s blatant arousal and the seductive look on his brother’s face, it had taken all of his willpower not to throw Maldie out of the room and undo some of her fine work in healing his brother.

“Ye have a rough touch, brother,” Nigel said, warily eyeing his scowling elder
brother.

“Mayhap I am just disgusted that ye would try to seduce the wee lass who has worked so hard to keep ye alive,” Balfour snapped as he moved to pour himself some wine, inwardly cursing the temper he could not seem to control.

“And why should that trouble ye so much?”

“She is but a poor, fatherless lass and was it not ye yourself who warned me against being blinded by a bonny face? Was it not ye who said that she held too many secrets?” He looked straight at Nigel, a little discomforted by the considering look on his brother’s face, one that told him he had probably revealed too much of his feelings.

Nigel nodded slowly. “I did and I still do. Howbeit, I now think those secrets have naught to do with us, are no threat to us. She is, as ye have just reminded me, a poor, fatherless lass. She has led a hard life and feels deeply about the shame her mother suffered and the way her father cast her and her mother aside. Her secrets are about herself and her past, about shames, hurts, and trials that she rightfully feels are none of our concern.”

“Mayhap.” Balfour prayed that, if he shut his mouth now, Nigel would let the subject lag, but a moment later he knew that was a vain hope.

“I dinnae think ye are angry because I was succumbing to a lass ye mistrust.”

“These are troubled times. One should be cautious.”

Nigel ignored his words. “I think ye want the lass yourself and ye thought I was stealing her away.”

“And I think ye have lain abed so long that your wits have become as weak as your body.”

“Nay. I am right. Ye cannae insult me out of my belief. Ye want the lass. I saw it when we found her on the road, but chose to forget that. I think I have chosen to ignore all signs of your desire for her. ’Twould interfere with my own plans, wouldnae it? Just how badly do ye want the lass?”

Balfour briefly considered heartily denying Nigel’s assumptions and then making a hasty, cowardly retreat from the room. Then he shook his head. It would only gain him a small respite. His brother would never let the matter rest until his curiosity was satisfied. An honest answer now might silence Nigel. To his utter disgust, he found himself wondering if it would also make Nigel back down and leave Maldie alone. He hated to think he was that uncertain of his ability to woo and win a woman, especially one Nigel had also set his eye upon.

“Badly,” he finally replied. “At times I think my wits have been scattered to the four winds.”

“Aye, those green eyes can do that to a mon. So can a hearty lusting.”

“’Tis more than lusting,” Balfour reluctantly admitted.

“How much more?”

There was an odd look on Nigel’s face, intent yet somehow unreadable. It was as if Nigel was trying very hard to hide something. What if Nigel was also captivated? What if his brother also had feelings for Maldie, ones that went far deeper than a natural, manly lusting for a pretty woman? Balfour realized that he did not want to know, no matter how selfish that was. He did not want to feel obligated to give Nigel a fighting chance. If his brother was hurt by whatever happened between himself and Maldie, Balfour decided he would deal with that later.

A small, jealous part of him muttered that it would do the bonny Nigel some good to lose a woman. Balfour swore that he would do something to finally kill that still bitter, hurt young man inside of him, the one that had watched too many women turn from him to Nigel and obviously still resented it. He had not realized how deep that sense of injury had gone, not until Maldie had walked into their lives.

“I dinnae ken,” Balfour replied quietly. “That ’tis more than passion is all I am sure of.”

“And how does she feel?”

“She wants me. That I am certain of. She fights it because she believes passion destroyed her mother. Maldie doesnae want to repeat her mother’s follies. ’Twas when I saw that I no longer feared I was about to repeat our father’s mistakes that I was sure I was being driven by more than desire.” He shrugged, a little disgusted by his own uncertainties. “I just cannae say how much more. ’Tis a fierce thing, but ’tis also a puzzling thing.”

“Then have her, brother. She is yours. I withdraw from the field. What with your fears, confusions, and desires and her fears and passions, the field is too crowded anyway.”

Before Balfour could ask what Nigel meant, Maldie returned. The cross look she gave him as she set a tray of food on Nigel’s lap made Balfour fear she had overheard his talk with Nigel. He quickly discarded that concern. If Maldie had heard anything, she would have been a lot more than cross. Balfour knew that, to anyone idly listening, it would have sounded as if he and Nigel were callously deciding who would bed her. He doubted that his confession about the depth and confusion of his feelings would have wrung any sympathy from her either. Maldie was clearly just annoyed at his interference and the way he had ordered her around.

“Am I allowed to help him eat his food?” Maldie asked, frowning when Balfour grinned.

Balfour wondered fleetingly why he should be so inordinately pleased that he had not only guessed her mood, but the cause of it. “I should have thought that he was recovered enough to feed himself.”

“Aye, he would be, if he hadnae got up and skipped about the room.”

“I didnae skip,” muttered Nigel, whispering a curse when he had to have Maldie cut his bread for him.

“And why shouldnae he be trying to walk?” asked Balfour, frowning a little when he suddenly became aware of how pale his brother was. “His fever has been gone for a week or more, and his wounds arenae in danger of opening.”

“True, but he must now regain all the strength he lost. He must take his first steps with the utmost care, especially since one of those deep wounds was to his leg. I can understand what sets his mind to such foolishness,” Maldie added, watching Nigel closely as he took a drink of cider. “Lying abed, rested and with a full belly, one isnae always aware of one’s weaknesses and has no patience for caution. Howbeit, to do too much too fast could leave him with a stiffness in his leg he would never be rid of.”

The firm tone of her voice told Balfour she spoke the truth, and he looked at Nigel. The tight, almost sullen look on his brother’s face said that Nigel also believed her warnings. Once Nigel’s fever had passed, Balfour had considered his brother healed, that the man only needed rest and food. He realized that he had been as foolish as Nigel. He
could also see that Nigel was going to require a great deal of very close watching.

“How goes the plan to free Eric and make Beaton suffer?” asked Nigel as Maldie took the meal tray away.

“Slowly.” Balfour leaned against one of the tall, thick posts at the foot of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “We ken verra little about the mon or about Dubhlinn. I have set a mon within the heart of the enemy’s camp, but ’tis difficult for him to send us any information. Even the simplest thing could aid us, but we dinnae e’en have that yet.”

“When ye say simple, do ye mean such things as when they open and close the gates?” Maldie asked as she poured herself a goblet of cider.

“Aye, e’en something as small as that.”

“Weel, they open them when the sun clears the horizon, and shut them at twilight.”

Maldie nearly flinched beneath the brothers’ stares. The hint of suspicion in their eyes was justified, but that did not make it any less unsettling. In her eagerness to help defeat Beaton in any way she could, she had not considered how such information would be viewed. Nor had she considered the need to devise a very clever explanation for possessing such knowledge about their enemy. The truth, that she had learned all she could about Beaton so that she could more easily kill the man, would be viewed by the Murrays with distrust and, quite possibly, distaste.