Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles) (14 page)

“Hmmm.” Chin resting between thumb and forefinger, Colin stared into space. “You could be right. However, as my brother, I will pretend to be so besotted I canna stand to be parted from you. I’m willing to risk murder to keep you by my side, certain that once you quicken with my child you’ll nae wish the boy to grow up without a father.”

“You know I’ll nae ever bear Brice a child.”

“Maybe. But by now everyone at Strathnaver believes we share a bed.”

Fury at his confidence rushed through her veins, and she struggled to maintain her bland expression. “Hmph. Every man thinks himself a superior lover. If only they knew what their women truly thought. Very well, I will share your bed but only to sleep.”

The smile remained on his face. “As you wish—wife.”

Sorcha picked up her sewing in a show of indifference far from what she felt.

• • •

The next five nights were torture. The first three nearly killed him. Colin restrained himself from touching Sorcha out of respect for the conflict she suffered. If she signaled in any way that she was done with resistance, he’d gladly consummate their passion, but until she could do so without guilt or shame, he’d keep his hands to himself.

Then Sorcha had begun the labor of cleaning Strathnaver Stronghold. Even in a supervisory role, she worked hard enough to fall exhausted into bed. She slept so soundly she seemed completely unaware of his body beside her.

He assigned his friends to their new posts then sent the Sir Fitzsimmons on an errand to the village at the southern end of the loch. The task was complex enough to keep the steward occupied for a full two days. That gave Colin enough time to start his own cleaning campaign. When the steward returned he would be assigned to supervising the spaces already cleaned and repaired, thus keeping the man away from the areas that remained to be searched.

Rooms and outbuildings were emptied; the contents inventoried, and the spaces scrubbed and whitewashed. Any damage was repaired, then everything was restored to order only to do it all over again with the next space and the next.

Each night when they left the hall after supper and settled in their bedchamber, he and Sorcha compared notes. He might have treasured the peaceful intimacy of those moments, had longing for her not raged through his body. Five more days into their search, neither of them had found anything. The larder had revealed naught. They had both questioned the cook, once she recovered. Neither of them detected any fault in her memory or her thinking. Which left them with Sir Broc’s mysterious foray into the larder, an equally mysterious and murderous squire, and a chamberlain and a steward both with things to hide.

Between the need to bed Sorcha and to find the letters and spies, Colin was ready to tear the stronghold apart with his bare hands.

He growled, turning from the window. “Are you certain you’ve found naught, seen naught, and heard naught?”

She sighed as she plaited her hair. She wore a voluminous night robe that hid every inch of skin save her head and neck, yet she was tempting as a Boxing Day treat. How did she do that?

“I am certain. The only things I’ve heard are the rumors you predicted: that your men are here more to keep me from murdering you than to protect your servants. And, of course, that you are besotted with me, or you would have had me in chains the day cook was attacked.”

“I’ve heard the same.” He ran a hand through his hair and paced the length of the room and back. His path took him close enough to Sorcha for him to smell her heather and woman scent, so he stopped moving at the farthest point. ʼTwould do nae good if he lost his head. He’d never be able to break through her barriers if he did that. Saint Andrew’s Cross, the woman was stronger willed than he’d ever imagined she could be. He had to admire that, but he could wish, at least in regards to himself, that she would falter and show even the smallest weakness.

“What of the chamberlain?” he continued. “Is he watched at all times?”

“I canna follow him into the privy, but otherwise if I am nae with him, one of your loyal men is.”

“They’ve reported every day and naught unusual has occurred thus far.”

A knock came at the door.

Sorcha made to rise, and Colin waved her back to her sewing. “Nae screeching, so it canna be my stepmother. I’ll get it.”

He opened the solid oak panel. “Come in, Ranulf. I gather you’ve something to tell me. I’d like Lady Strathnaver to hear as well.”

“Aye, my lord.” The tall man in clansman’s dress stepped into the chamber and bowed to Sorcha. “Your ladyship.”

 “What news?”

“The steward has once again left the stronghold. He saddled his own horse and spoke with no one. This after he retired to his chamber at the same time you did, claiming he wished a solid night’s sleep.”

“Did Alex follow him?” Colin asked.

“Aye, as you asked.”

“And Davey still keeps watch on the piney copse?”

“Aye.”

“Excellent. Send Alex to me as soon as he returns, no matter what the time.”

The man bowed and left.

“You dinna tell me that Sir Fitzsimmons had been seen leaving Strathnaver in secret before now.”

“Because we’d never been able to catch him at it in time to set someone to follow him.”

“And this time we have. That’s excellent work. What do you suspect?”

“Naught for certain. But if he is a traitor, we may have visitors soon.”

“Who? I need to know what preparations to make.”

“I canna be sure. But if I am right, whoever it is will be someone our steward reports to.”

“But we are nae certain Sir Fitzsimmons is a spy.”

“Tonight should tell the tale. We must await Alex’s report.”

“That willna be for some time, and I am tired.” She stood and stretched before climbing into bed. “Wake me when your man Alex arrives.”

She snuffed the candle on the table at her bedside, turned over, and was swallowed by the coverlet.

With the fire providing the only light, Colin moved his low-backed chair from the window to the hearth. He sat, propped his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and contemplated the best means for trapping spies and for keeping his hands off a woman his cock noticed more and more with every moment.

When daylight woke her, Sorcha was alone in bed. Colin slept in the chair by the dying fire. She sat up, donned the slippers left at the bedside, and went to stir the coals. When she had the fire burning enough to warm the room, she turned to find Colin watching her; desire’s flame glowed in the darkening green of his eyes.

“Good morning.” Her pleasantry sounded inane in the quiet air.

“And you.” He stretched.

ʼTwas a cruel thing to watch. His shirt outlined the contours of his chest and arms. His heavily muscled thighs and calves extended to their full length. His hips thrust forward, the prominent bulge beneath his pants unmistakable. Her mouth watered, though her breakfast was far from her mind.

“Ouch.” He rubbed at his neck as he relaxed into the chair once more.

“Here, let me.” Sorcha moved behind him, pushed his fine red curls to the side and set her hands on his neck. Her fingers bracketed the strong, warm column, and her thumbs rested on his nape. She began rubbing small circles with her thumbs then her fingers, allowing the circles to become wider and wider until her fingers slipped into his hair to rub his scalp.

Colin groaned.

She gave attention to his neck, shoulders, and upper back before she stopped.

“You‘re a wicked, wicked woman, Sorcha MacKai.”

“Lady Marr, if you dinna mind,” she flirted, moving toward the bed. “’Tis cruel you are to call a kindness wicked.”

“Cruel, am I?”

She heard the chair scrape against the stone floor and looked over her shoulder.

“I’ll show you cruel.” He leapt after her.

She lifted her hem and did her best to run, but he had her by the shoulders before she took three steps. Truth to tell, she was glad. She wearied of resisting her own longings.

He pulled her against him, and she managed to get her arms between them, hands on his chest before he closed the distance.

“Do you think this wise?”

He groaned again, a grimace of mock agony turning up his mouth. “Most likely nae, but I beg of you, just one wee kiss.”

She smiled but tears threatened as she recalled another kiss. “’Twould be a mistake.”

“Nae.” He spoke soft and captured her gaze. “’Twould be sweet and lovely. I would die a happy man.”

She rolled her eyes and slapped his shoulder. “You are nae like to die for several decades, unless some jealous husband catches up with you.”

His expression sobered. “I never touched another man’s wife. I swear it.”

Her smile drooped. “I am another man’s wife.”

Something intense burned in his gaze. “Nae to a living man, Sorcha,
muirnean
. Tell me there is nae man who would take my life for touching you.”

“Nae one.” Her voice rasped. Raeb might have defended her honor once, but nae now. No after she defied him to wed Brice.

“Then lay with me,
muirnean
. End this punishment you inflict on us both.”

Gentle longing mixed with the fire in his eyes and formed a glow of something that might be hope. He did nae truly want her. Such gentle pleadings were how he managed to get under every skirt he fancied, and he was so very, very good at it. She easily understood how women made fools of themselves for men like him. She wanted nae more than to cast caution away and betray her principles for bliss. Love could never happen between them, but passion, on her terms and of her choosing—that she would allow, would take. She would have one more memory to warm her at night when she grew old alone. Aye, that she could permit.

“One kiss only,” she teased.

“Sorcha, I beg of you, have pity.”

He’d taken her seriously.

“Surely you must know I am in pain,” he continued before she could explain. “Desire will kill me for certain, if all you grant is one paltry kiss.”

She pushed him to arm’s length and let her eyes go wide. “If my kiss is so paltry, I’m surprised you want even one. I take it back. I dinna want you to kiss me.”

His eyelids narrowed, and he gave her a sideways look. “You lie. You want to kiss me as much as I wish to kiss you.”

“Nae if ʼtis a paltry kiss.”

“’Twill be heaven, our kiss, and more. Let me show you.”

His lips met hers like a gentle breeze, testing, tasting, teasing until she relaxed into his embrace. Then his mouth possessed her, and desire lifted her to a bittersweet paradise.

 She opened, longing for that precious flavor, needing the flood of desire to hold the tide of sorrow at bay. Her mind whirled, and she clutched at him, desperate for his solid presence to anchor herself. Beneath her fingers, muscle rippled, and his heartbeat raced with her touch.

He gave her all and more. Tenderness, passion, caresses. His hand fisted in her hair, and he angled her head for the greatest pleasure. His other hand stroked sweet, agonizing passion over her hip and across her buttocks. Her hips rocked, and even through their clothing she welcomed the feel of him hard against her most tender flesh.

The world tilted. She felt the mattress at her back, his weight so warm, so welcome, so forbidden.

She spread her legs and pulled her robe up to her waist.

He fumbled with his pants.

A glorious pressure filled her as he joined with her. She welcomed the fullness. Lost all restraint when he touched her breast then eased open her robe so he could suckle her to madness. She moved, twisting, arching, searching for that exquisite delight only he could give her.

“Hurry,” she pleaded. “I need you now.”

He stilled and captured her gaze. “Say my name.”

She ground her hips in frustration, but he remained immobile. “Colin.”

He thrust into her and stopped. “Again.”

“Aye, again.”

He smiled. “My name.”

She begged with her eyes. “Dinna torture me so.”

“Then say my name.”

“Colin.”

One thrust and she teetered on the edge.

“Again.”

She moaned. “Colin, Colin, Colin, Colin, Colin.”

With every cry, he swived faster and faster. Her hips pumped to his command, her body thrived to his touch.

“Colin, Colin, Colin, Colin, Colin.”

“Aye,
muirnean
, cry my name until no other name enters your mind.”

She did. Clutching his flexing hips, she urged him on, his name and body the only realities in a storm of passion. She soared, her voice soaring with her. Her last call, the last sound she heard, was his name in a keening plea of surrender.

With a last thrust, Colin collapsed upon her.

Arms she couldna feel clasped him to her. Legs she couldna control slipped from around him to dangle from the edge of the bed. She knew his lips stroked her cheek, his words caressed her ears, but she had nae strength to respond, nae will beyond the need to float secure and sated in his embrace.

Some while later, she managed to turn her head and kiss him a long, slow savoring that dissolved the fury of their union and left her dazedly happy.

He lifted himself away. “Thank you,
muirnean
. I used you most roughly and apologize. Are you all right?”

She nodded, nae trusting her voice to speak the right words.

He sighed, kissed her cheek, and held out his hand to help her rise. “Would I could spend the day here with you like this.”

“The idea has merit. However, nae today. I must dress and be about my duties.” She straightened her night robe then disappeared behind the screen that guarded her modesty when washing her body and changing her clothes.

ʼTwas a moment’s passion, nae more. She’d decided what she wanted and taken it. She refused to regret lying with him, but neither would she let that one interlude dictate her life. ʼTwas her business and hers alone. She cleaned herself, donned a warm gown with a kirtle over it, neatened her hair, and tidied her appearance. She wanted nae trace to remain of the wanton who lay with Colin Marr.

• • •

She emerged to hear voices and saw Colin close the chamber door. He came back to the hearth holding a sealed vellum scroll, which he put down on the bedside table.