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Authors: Jackie Ivie

Knight Everlasting (19 page)

BOOK: Knight Everlasting
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“Lass. I—”
“Promised me answers,” she interrupted.
He puffed his cheeks out with the next breath. “Aye. That I did.”
“Then why? And how?”
“I could na' sleep,” he admitted. “This entire night. I've been beset—bothered—nae. Worse. I was plagued. 'Tis torment . . . and never-ending. That's what it is. I need . . . your body. What you give. I had to have it. 'Twas a fierce want.”
Each word sent another flash of sensation through her, matching the spurt of her heartbeat.
“So I was rash. Again.”
He rolled from her completely, using his head as a fulcrum, and pulling them apart with the move. He ended up on his side, facing her with his head supported atop an upward flung arm. His kilt went to a puddle about his hips and upper thighs, hiding most of him. Juliana wasn't as lucky. Her shift was still in a mass of material bunched up past her waist, forcing her into a curve about the wad of it, while her lower limbs and hips were open to the air and his gaze.
She watched him look to her nakedness and then he looked back at her. “And always,” he added.
“Always . . . what?”
“Rash. I am ever rash. And reckless. 'Tis a curse. Look at you.”
Juliana looked down at her nakedness, wantonly displayed for him. Then she returned her gaze to his. She didn't change a thing.
“I canna' even wait to unwrap you.”
“Actually . . .” She rolled onto her side, facing him and nearly touching. “I think this was my fault.”
His one eyebrow rose. Juliana moved a finger to trace it, and then moved her vision back to his. “True?” she asked.
His grin was heart stopping, even if it was followed by a yawn. She already knew it, but the sensation caused a stutter feeling within her that made the finger touching him shake. Juliana slowly moved her touch to his temple and pushed a lock of hair back behind his ear before he'd finished his yawn.
“You're a blessed sight, woman,” he informed her and nuzzled his head about her outstretched arm.
“So . . . you've answered the why. But not the how,” she informed him.
He blew out a heavy breath, hard enough it caressed her naked loins, and he closed his eyes. “'Tis a powerful potion you wield, lass.”
“What?”
“With this frame of yours. Powerful. Draining . . . perfect . . .”
And with that one statement, he canceled her argument. Juliana closed her mouth and forgot the words. It wouldn't have been easy to get an answer from him anyway, as quickly and deeply as he went to sleep. She still had a hand touching his ear, and used it to finger and then smooth the hair strands that had escaped from his queue back against the mass of it. Then, she was sliding the back of her finger along his cheek, giggling a bit at the twitch of reaction he gave, although it didn't wake him.
It wasn't a potion. It wasn't a spell. It was an emotion. She wondered when he'd discover and realize it.
 
 
“So . . . Ewan, what will we do with the woman?”
“'Tis painfully simple, Kerr MacGorrick. The laird will turn to a
poucah
and wizard her back to the women croft.”
“Or . . . leave her wandering about, lost in her grief over her clan's near demise.”
That's an idea
. Aidan twisted his lips and considered it. Aidan could get her to the clearing by the kiln and set her onto one of the benches he'd had to dodge earlier. She could have walked in her sleep. Grief sometimes did odd things to a person. It would be light soon enough, but he hadn't wanted to move her from the curled-up sleeping goddess position she'd assumed. Not yet.
“Aye. That's a great plan . . . but does it na' answer the problem.”
“What problem is that, Kerr?”
“You going to make them cease that?” Tavish asked from Aidan's side.
Aidan looked across their fire at where Kerr and Ewan were squatting, trading teasing words, before looking back to the man at his side. “Nae,” he replied.
“Why na'?”
“Listen,” he replied in a near inaudible tone.
There wasn't much heard for a few moments. Not much was seen either . . . unless one looked into the fire, trying to decipher its secrets. Or watched the thread of smoke wending its way upward to the hang of mist that was brought into existence by the night air atop water. Aidan smirked slightly.
“The problem is the woman. You should listen without so much dirt a-tween your ears. You'd hear more.” Kerr added to it with a shove on Ewan's shoulder.
“Oh. Aye. The woman. 'Tis always a problem, is na' it? Especially for the laird.”
“'Tis na' his lone fault.”
“Nae?”
“They swarm about him like bees. To a honey pot.”
“Aye. A honey pot. Our laird. That's a good one.”
Both men guffawed loudly and smacked their knees. Aidan turned his head and sucked in on his cheeks to hide the smile.
“What are we listening for?” Tavish asked.
“My conscience,” Aidan replied. He watched Tavish puzzle it for a bit, but had his attention caught again.
“Our laird should na' have taken it into his head to give her a title.”
“You think not?” Ewan asked.
“Makes it powerful difficult to bed her.”
“I'll be calling you out,” Ewan replied quickly. “You even hint at an issue with that. The laird has nae issue with that. Never.”
Aidan got his glance toward them intercepted.
“You see there, Kerr? The laird heard that. I will na' have to give your sorry arse a whipping. He won't leave enough for me.”
“And if you'd listen instead of jawing, you'd hear it right. I would never cast aspersions on that. The MacKetryck laird is known far and wide for his manhood.”
Aidan cleared his throat. Loudly.
“Then explain. 'Tis clear we all want to ken what you're saying. Don't we, lads?” Ewan gestured widely to the encampment.
Aidan ignored them. Tavish didn't.
“Doona' look to me,” he said. “I have better things to do than decide the whys and whens of my laird's wishes.”
“You weren't behind the slab of wood?” Kerr asked.
“What slab?” Tavish asked.
“The one placed beside that Killoran clansman. To make him think a log fell on him and knocked a bump into his head that had him dreaming of large-bosomed lasses . . . instead of one of my laird's skeans.”
“That was a good shot, wasn't it, Ewan?”
Both men took turns shoving each other's shoulder on their side of the fire.
“Aye. That it was. 'Tis a pure pleasure serving Aidan Niall. Pure pleasure.”
“Which does bring me back to the woman, Ewan,” Kerr said.
“You and that subject. I vow, Kerr—”
“The woman is a problem, Ewan. Now, more than ever. Just look at this eve.”
“What of this eve?”
“He granted her the title of lady.”
“What of it? The lass acts and behaves just like one. You've already noted it. Doona' take it back now.”
Kerr sighed heavily. “It's na' that. She is a
lady.
”
Ewan shrugged. “So?” he asked.
“You're dense, Ewan lad. One weds a lady a-fore bedding her. Unless they wish problems with her clan. Hmm. That could be the plan. If there are any MacDonals about the face of the earth still to insult. God rest their souls.”
“I am not dense,” Ewan replied to all of that.
“Then use your head for something aside of hanging your hair on! Think, man!”
“Why do you ken he kidnapped her? Practice? Jesu' ! You need to do something with all that hot breath you fill the world with, Kerr.”
“'Twas rather well done, too . . . wasn't it?” Kerr added.
“Aye . . . that it was.”
Both men nodded and grinned. Aidan watched them at it.
“You ken the problem yet?”
Ewan had lines across his forehead now. They probably matched Aidan's. Kerr made a sound of frustration.
“Castle Ketryck is na' filled with Killoran's slack men. 'Tis teeming with menfolk. Women, too. Every nook. Every hall.”
“So?” Ewan replied.
“We're going to need eyes in the backs of our heads, extra ears, and the luck of the saints. Think, man! Ponder it out.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . someone should have pondered it afore the doing of it. That's what I'm saying.”
“Pondered what?” Ewan asked
“Tagging the woman a lady! Would you think, man? If she was another of his women, none would care! But . . . taking a lady? That'd be an insult.”
Aidan stiffened noticeably.
“Oh,” Ewan replied.
Oh?
Aidan could think of a lot more words, curses most of them.
“Tagging the woman a lady was reckless. A man doing that dinna' think afore he acted. He should've. Then there'd be nae problem at all.”
There was a general moment that could have been Ewan sucking in breath at Kerr's daring. It would match Tavish's reaction at Aidan's side. Aidan didn't react. He listened to his blood pounding through his ears, modulated his breathing, and then cocked his head to one side. Kerr was right. And Aidan had done it to himself.
“You should spend time pondering the whys of your wenches, Kerr MacGorrick. And the lack of them.”
“I had offers,” Kerr replied in a mock defensive tone. Ewan hooted.
“You had womenfolk running from you last eve. That's what you had.”
“You'll pay for that, whelp!”
A bit of good-natured slugging happened across the fire.
“I ken what you meant,” Tavish said from Aidan's side. “About the conscience.”
“How's Arran?” Aidan asked instead.
“Sleeping. With his arms about a smallish keg.”
“Smallish?”
“Aye. Mostly water as well.” Tavish smiled widely.
Aidan returned the gesture, and ignored the two men, who were now wrestling, from the other side of the fire. “How did he take it?” he asked.
“He drank me under the table, he did.”
“Under the table?”
“More akin to . . . under a pallet. Which is where he's sleeping. And aye. I matched him tankard for tankard . . . even as they became nothing more than water. I let him win.”
“You did, eh?”
“Aye. Why . . . right now, I'm prostrate and stewed to my gills. I may na' be able to sit my horse on the morrow. This is how stewed I am.”
Aidan grinned.
“I may never live this down. You ken? Your bairn brother has a large mouth.”
Aidan snorted the amusement. And then had his attention gripped by the duo on the other side of the fire. Talking loudly. Both men looked a bit disheveled, but with their arms about each other's shoulders and a tankard in the free hands.
“We should do more than ponder the doings of the laird, Kerr.”
“True,” the other man agreed.
“He's laird. He can do what he wishes.”
“Can he get out of the Campbell betrothal?” Kerr asked.
“Campbell . . . betrothal?”
“You dinna' hear? Our laird sent off a missive more than three sennights past. Requesting the Campbell heiress's hand in wedlock. Without pondering that one much either.”
Kerr was wrong on that account. It had been at the back of Aidan's mind since Dugald MacKetryck had proposed it over a season ago. Aidan just hadn't acted until right before leaving to reave against the MacDonal clan's new holdings.
“Go on with you, Kerr MacGorrick! The lass is but a child.”
“She will na' always be so. And once she reaches her woman-time and can be wed, our laird wants her hand. And the land and treasury that comes with it, of course.”
“Maybe the Campbells will na' accept,” Ewan replied hopefully.
“It's the laird of MacKetryck clan, Ewan,” Kerr replied.
“Oh. Aye.”
The sinking feeling in Aidan's belly was overridden by the tight band circling his heart in his chest. He didn't know he had the capacity for feeling each heartbeat with a painful thud.
BOOK: Knight Everlasting
9.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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