My Shadow Warrior (15 page)

His gaze dropped to their joined hands and he lifted them, curling his hand closed to trap her fingers and bringing her hand to his mouth. He pressed his lips to the back of her palm in a warm, lingering kiss that sent waves of heat and weakness all the way to her toes. He watched her over their hands, his eyes so dark in the candlelight that they seemed black, intense, obscure.

He bent toward her and she leaned forward, meeting his mouth. His lips were warm and firm and tasted of whisky and man and secrets she longed to uncover. His hand was at the back of her neck, guiding, tilting her head so he could kiss her fully, openmouthed, their breath mingling. It was all dizziness and heat, and Rose sank into it, her heart thudding in her ears. When his tongue slid between her lips, she opened to him, welcoming him.

His kiss changed from gentle exploration to fierce demand, his whiskers scraping her skin. He turned on the bench, his other arm circling her waist to pull her closer. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing into his warmth, inhaling the scent of him, spicy and male.

He caught her face between both his hands and drew back. His breathing was uneven as he stared down at her. “What am I doing?” he murmured, his hungry gaze roving over her face, his thumb stroking over her damp mouth.

Rose’s breath shivered between her lips. She was unable to keep her eyes open under his sensuous caresses. She didn’t want to talk about what they were doing or even think about it, she just wanted him to keep kissing her. When his thumb moved over her mouth again, she touched it with her tongue. He inhaled sharply.

Her lashes rose. He stared down at her with dark desire. His gazed roamed over her face and lower, to her bodice. Rose’s breath caught with anticipation, her blood surging fast and thick. But he did nothing. He grew so still as he stared down at her body that Rose was compelled to look downward herself.

His gaze was riveted on Jamie’s locket. She usually tucked it in her bodice, but as she’d been looking at it earlier, she’d left it out. The clasp must not have caught either when she’d closed it. It lay open, Jamie’s pale face and cerulean eyes gazing up at them.

Rain tapped against the shutters, and the cold swirled around Rose’s ankles again, chilling her. She pulled free of William’s arms. He released her readily enough, but his hand lifted the locket, his gaze still fixed on the miniature. The longer he stared, the hotter Rose’s face became.

“Your betrothed?” he asked quietly, flicking her a quick, quizzical look before ruminating on the miniature again.

Rose swallowed the bile threatening to rise in her throat. “Aye.”

“So you’re marrying young Jamie.”

A small jolt of surprise went through her. “You know him?”

He closed the locket and let it drop back to her chest. “You could say that.” There was an edge to his musing tone, a tautness around his eyes and mouth.

Rose was mortified, imagining what he must think of her, and she spoke in a great rush. “You must think I’m a loose woman. I’m not…I haven’t seen him since we were children, though we’ve been writing. And I don’t go about kissing men I hardly know—”

“I kissed you.”

“I let you.”

He smiled slightly, causing Rose’s heart to flutter madly, then he stood, extending his hand to her. Rose let him pull her to her feet. He laid her hand over his arm, tucked it into his side, and led her from the gallery. She glanced up at him several times. He seemed distracted, thoughtful.

Her heart still raced with excitement and fear. “Where are we going?”

“To your chambers.”

She should not. She knew she should not, but she said nothing, letting him lead her along like a faithful hound. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She wasn’t thinking, and that was the bliss of it. There was something about him that drew her powerfully. Time disappeared in his company. Before she was ready, they stood before her chamber.

He pushed the door open and released her. Rose went into the room but turned quickly at the door. He didn’t step over the threshold, leaning instead against the doorframe, his hands behind his back. He looked enormous, his broad shoulders filling the width of her doorway, his silvered hair nearly brushing the top of the frame. He glanced idly about the small chamber before his gaze rested on her again.

No longer touching him, her senses slowly returned. What
was
she doing? She was betrothed! And he knew it—therefore nothing he wanted from her was honorable. She put a hand on the door and closed it partway.

“Goodnight, my lord.”

“You may call me William.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

He raised a brow, straightening from the doorframe. “Came to your senses, I see.” He lifted a shoulder and heaved a regretful sigh. “You’re right, I expect.”

His easy acquiescence disappointed her. It was strange to feel so torn between what she desired and what she knew was right. There was nothing right about what she wanted. It was pure folly. She was a fool for being disappointed. She should be grateful he had the honor not to push the matter, for she feared her resolve was a flimsy thing, easily set aside.

“My lord?” she called after him when he turned to leave.

He turned back, wearing a mildly hopeful expression that made her smile.

“Would you convey my apologies to Drake?”

He returned to the door, a small frown appearing between his black brows. “You’ve apologized to him several times already, lass. I heard you. Fine, sincere apologies. There’s no need to keep at it.”

Rose shrugged, staring at his boots, her chest tight with the memory of that night on the moor. “I just thought, coming from you, he might listen. I don’t know why I thought such a thing of him….”

His finger touched her chin, raising her face so she looked in his eyes. “Aye, ye do. And so do I. You’ve no more apologies to make, Rose. You’ve done naught wrong—just drawn the same conclusions anyone would, considering.”

A heavy weight sank to the bottom of her belly. She nodded stiffly. “Goodnight,” she murmured through wooden lips. She shut the door and leaned against it, her body rigid, as if tensed for flight.
He knew
.

How did he know? Her skin crawled at the thought of him
knowing,
imagining. No
. No!
She wanted to scratch her own skin off at the thought. Instead she hurried across the room to her wooden box. It needed to be cleaned.

For the next hour she stood over the ewer and basin and scrubbed every instrument in her box until each one gleamed. But still her mind turned and turned, remembering that even after William had been reminded of her betrothed, he’d still thought she might let him into her bed. And why wouldn’t he think such a thing? She’d acted the wanton, and besides, he
knew.
Was it so obvious? Just from looking at her or speaking to her? Was it something in her manner? Did others know and say nothing?

She pulled out the mortar and pestle and began frantically grinding herbs, reciting receipts for physiks in her mind, anything, anything to shove back the horrible thoughts, the terrible memories.

William returned to his own chambers but found he wasn’t tired. He should be, considering the grueling pace they’d set after being attacked by the broken men. That and the weary sense of guilt that had descended on him at dinner as he’d listened to Comyn and Grainne extol his late wife’s many virtues, wishing he remembered them and sickened that he didn’t. All he remembered was a small, frightened girl, begging him to save their baby.

But his interlude with Rose had washed all that away, leaving him restless and unsatisfied. He paced for a while, drinking some of the fine whisky Comyn had left for him. After his second dram he set the cup down decisively and left his chambers. He strode down the hall and up the curved stairs, pounding on the door at the top.

There was some muffled cursing, and after William’s repeated pounding, the door finally swung open. Drake stood there, disheveled and naked except for the plaid wrapped around his waist.

“What the—Will, wait—”

William pushed his way into the room only to find his brother wasn’t alone. A pretty blond servant was in his bed. She made a small sound of surprise and pulled the sheets over her head.

Drake raised his brows meaningfully. “Can’t this wait?”

“No, it cannot. You, in the bed—get out.”

Drake scowled at his brother, then hurried over to the upheaval of bedding, picking women’s garments off the floor on his way, then apologizing profusely to his bed partner as he helped her dress. William paced the room impatiently, pouring himself wine and standing near the fireplace with his back to them.

When Drake finally ushered the woman out with promises to come for her as soon as he was done, William turned. Drake had thrown on a shirt and turned from the door, black brows drawn together in profound irritation.

“What was so damn important it couldn’t wait until morning, aye?”

“Mistress MacDonell wishes to extend her apologies to you for her false assumptions the other night.”

Drake paused in the act of pouring himself wine and blinked at him, his mouth slightly agape. “You jest.”

“No. I am very serious.”

“You came here for that? That damn shrew! Tell her to take her apology and—”

“And what?” William asked darkly, eyes narrowing.

Drake’s mouth snapped shut. He stared at William with incredulous betrayal. “You cannot expect me to accept her apologies after she believed such revolting things of me. I would never harm Deidra. It makes me sick to think on it—”

“I know, I know.” William waved this away. “However, you are being very small-minded, Drake, and it wounds Rose.”

Drake shook his head in disbelief. “Wounds Rose? What about me?” He pounded his chest with his open palm. “She wounds
me!
She dishonors
me!
But what care you of that? You are so smitten you care for nothing else.”

“Smitten?” William rolled his eyes. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Ah—you lie!” Drake grinned widely. “You adore her. I can tell. That Dumhnull farce was my first clue, but you make us all travel to Glen Laire—for a skirt!”

“It’s not for a skirt and you know it. She saved my life. Magic or no, I’d have choked to death from whatever Ailis had. She was the only one who knew what to do.”

Drake sighed and drained his cup. “I am grateful to her for that, of course, but damn it, Will!”

“And we still haven’t addressed your deception. Colluding with my daughter, teaching her to deceive me and keep secrets.” William shook his head grimly as Drake averted his gaze. “You will do this for me. You will accept her apology, and you will treat her with courtesy and respect.”

Drake’s jaw hardened mutinously, but he said, “Fine.”

William put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You know I never believed it of you. If such a thing had been true, it would have killed me.”

“You mean
you
would have killed
me
.”

“Aye,” William agreed dryly. “But it would have killed me to be forced to murder you.”

Drake tried not to smile at the ridiculous turn of the conversation, but he couldn’t stop himself, which made William feel better about the whole thing. William squeezed his brother’s shoulder and gave him a small, affectionate shake before turning for the door.

“Why not marry her, aye?” Drake asked, examining the bottom of his empty cup.

William paused, his hand gripping the door latch. The question caused a strange leaping sensation in his chest. “Who?”

“Grainne—after you murder Comyn and hide the body. Who do you think, neephead? Rose MacDonell!”

“I’ll not marry again. You know that.”

“You need an heir.”

“I have an heir,” William said grandly and made a sweeping gesture, encompassing Drake, who was standing barelegged in his shirt.

“I told you, I’ll not wed until you do.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. Surely you have a bastard or two running around we could leave Strathwick to.”

Drake didn’t rise to the bait. He raised his brows. “It’s been eight years, Will.
Eight years
. Don’t you think it’s time?”