Rowan's Lady (18 page)

Arline removed her cloak and stepped to the spot
furthest from the flap of the tent. She lifted the furs, slid in between them
and held the fur up, waiting for Rowan to set Lily down.

At the sight of Arline laying on the pallet, with
her torn bodice exposing her chemise and bare skin, the fur in her hand,
smiling and waiting, made his groin ache with want. He stood, with his child in
his arms, staring down at the beautiful woman and wished he could hand Lily off
to Thomas for a few hours.

Swallowing down the guilt-ridden lust, Rowan
cleared his throat and dropped to his knees. Lily scrambled from his arms and
nestled in next to Arline. Two smiling faces looked up at him.

The two of them looked happier than a bird with
two worms.

Nay, they hadn’t played him like a fine flute or
harp. They were simply two exhausted individuals who had been through far too
much in the past weeks.

He felt more than a bit of pride in the fact that
they needed him to chase away their fears. He was a comfort to them and in
return, he felt his own sense of comfort in knowing that he was needed.

Unfastening his belt, he laid his broadsword down
next to the flap of the tent and blew out the candle that sat on the small
table. He felt his way around in the dark until he found his daughter’s head.
She giggled as he slid in under the warm furs. Lily grabbed his neck and pulled
until he scooted closer to her and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

“I love ye, da,” Lily whispered around the thumb
in her mouth. Rowan kissed the top of her head. “I love ye, Lily Graham. Now,
wheesht and let us get some sleep.”

Lily snuggled in closer and was soon fast asleep.

Rowan lay with his hand resting on Lily’s chest,
listening to the gentle sounds of his daughter’s soft breathing. Occasionally,
she would shudder a sigh, the remnants from all her earlier tears and sobs.
Occasionally, Lady Arline would mimic Lily’s shudders.

Arline’s hand was resting on Lily’s stomach, just
a hair’s breadth away from Rowan’s. He had to swallow back his own tears.

Before Kate had died, they would lay in bed with
Lily between them. Just looking at her, watching her breathe and coo and smile
back at them. A week before Kate became ill, Lily laughed for the first time.
The memory was as vivid as the moment it had happened. He had been making silly
faces and noises at Lily. When he had made a particular silly sound, the babe
laughed. Kate begged him to do it again. For nearly an hour he had repeated the
silly words and sounds, just to hear both Lily and Kate laugh.

That was how his life should have remained. With
him and Kate raising Lily together. With Kate’s laughter filling the keep to
the rafters. The two of them, together, chasing away Lily’s bad dreams.

His memories were broken by the sleepy sound of
Arline’s voice. “Thank ye, Rowan,” she whispered as she snuggled closer to Lily.

Their hands touched then. Desperately he wanted to
take Arline’s hand in his, just to hold. ’Twasn’t a lust-filled desire, but one
born of a broken heart. Until this moment he hadn’t realized just how badly he
missed Kate and how large the void was left by her passing.

 As his skin touched Arline’s hand, ever so
slightly, it felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest and thrown
against a wall. That was how he had felt when Kate had died, with a hole in his
chest where his heart had once beat happily.

Rowan’s voice was lodged in his throat and he
could not respond to Arline. He swallowed back the tears of remorse and regret.
Tamped it all down, hiding it deep in his belly. If he tried to utter any
words, he knew he would break down and sob like a bairn, like Lily and Arline
had done earlier. He remained mute, unable to move, to speak. With his eyes
closed, he forced his lungs to take in air. He would save his tears for later,
for a time when he was alone in his bedchamber back at his keep.

Rowan was not certain he enjoyed the stillness of
the night for it made it made it far too easy to think. The sounds of crickets
and tree frogs carried on the air outside the tent. He could hear the low,
muffled voices of his men as they sat around the crackling fire. Lily’s
breathing blended with Arline’s and his own gave him a sense of something long
forgotten.

In that moment between wakefulness and sleep, a
sense of peace fell over Rowan, draping over his soul and heart. How long had
it been, since he’d felt
at peace
with anything?

’Twas then that he realized Lady Arline had draped
her hand over his. Long slender fingers curled and tucked into his palm.
Whether he dreamt or not, he neither knew nor cared. He no longer felt quite so
bereft and alone. The hole in his chest, left empty, cold, and bare for four
long years, no longer felt quite so empty.

Rowan was roused from his sleep at some point near
dawn by his daughter climbing over him. Lily was whispering that she had to
pee. Rowan was about to grudgingly open his eyes to help her when he heard
Frederick speaking to her in hushed tones. “Let yer da sleep a bit, wee one.
Uncle Frederick will help ye.”

Knowing Lily was in good hands, Rowan kept his
eyes closed and drifted back to sleep. He’d reward Fredrick handsomely for his
kindness later. The worry of the past weeks, the relief at finding his daughter
not only alive, but well-cared for, and their subsequent late night escape had
finally caught up with him.

Sometime later, he woke to the sound of his
daughter laughing just outside their tent. Remembering she was in good hands,
he did not rush to leave the warm pallet, the furs, or the wonderfully warm
body that was lying next to him. Her exquisitely round derrière nestled into a
groin that was quite happy to have it there. Her soft back snuggled nicely
against his torso and she was using his other arm as a pillow. As the fog of
sleep slowly lifted, he realized his arm was wrapped around her waist with his
hand tucked quite nicely under her side, holding her tightly.

God’s teeth, but he did not want to move from this
piece of heaven-on-earth, not yet, not for some time.

He should do the honorable thing and remove his
hand at once and quit the tent. He should not be taking such wicked enjoyment
from a sleeping and unaware woman. His mind should not now be filling with
thoughts of bare skin against bare skin and soft, supple lips pressing against
his. And most assuredly he should not be thinking about what it would feel like
if he were to roll her over on her back right now and make slow, sweet,
passionate love to her.

For the first time in a very long time, Rowan
decided against doing the honorable thing. Nay, he chose the wretched, rapscallion
path that only a rakehell would take -- he held her tighter.

Much to his delight and pleasure, Arline sighed
contentedly and snuggled in even closer. She rubbed her cheek against his arm
much like a cat does when its demanding to be petted.

They lay there side by side for a long while.
Arline lost to whatever peaceful dreams she might be having and Rowan lost to
the wretched and despicable images flashing in his mind, shamelessly and with
abandon.

He should leave, find a loch to jump into, find a
kirk, throw himself at the altar before God and beg for forgiveness. And
unequivocally, he should
not
lift his head and kiss the side of her neck
as he was now doing. God help him, he was a bastard.

“Nay,” Arline grumbled a sleepy protest and pulled
the fur around her shoulder. It was far too warm under the furs. And it felt
far too good curled up next to Rowan. She liked the way his arm felt, so
protective and warm, draped over her waist with his hand tucked under her
belly. And the way his lips felt as they left a trail of kisses on her neck.
“Let me sleep, just a while longer,” she mumbled, still half asleep.

Kisses. On. Her. Neck. Lord above, he was
kissing her neck!
She went stiff as a tree trunk, her eyes flew open, wide
with wonder and amazement. Och! The kisses felt too good to be real! Mayhap,
she thought, she was still asleep and this was but a dream, a wonderful,
glorious dream.

She slammed her eyes shut for she positively did
not want the dream to end. And if the kisses were real? She did not know what
she would do. Probably die from the embarrassment of having enjoyed them far
too thoroughly for a refined and dignified lady. The kisses stopped, far too
abruptly for the harlot and wanton woman who seemed to have taken up residence
inside her body. Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes again.

Nay, ’twas not a dream. Rowan was lying next to
her, his arm was in fact wrapped rather divinely around her waist, his fingers
tucked in under her side. Aye, the wanton was alive and well and no matter how
hard she wished she would go away, the wanton refused.

Battered, beaten, bruised, and yet she somehow
managed to find the ability to lose herself in lustful, sinful thoughts. She
had not protested the kisses, hadn’t pushed him away haughtily, like a true and
dignified lady would do. Nay, she relished them, took great delight in the way
his soft, warm lips felt against her neck, the way her skin turned to tingly
gooseflesh.

I’m goin’ to burn in hell, I just ken it!
she thought to herself. Och! How she wished Minnie were still alive and here to
give her good council.
Bah! To the devil with Minnie!
she heard the
wanton say.

Aye, I’m going to burn in hell.

As she lay there contemplating where her soul
would eternally rest and how she could keep it from burning in hell, she could
hear Rowan’s gentle snoring.

Suddenly she felt quite dejected and pathetic. He
was sound asleep and had not realized what he had just done. Her stomach
lurched at the next thought that entered her mind. He hadn’t kissed
her,
but
some woman, some vivacious, curvy, buxom and beautiful woman of which he
dreamt. Mayhap, he had even been dreaming of his wife.

This was her lot in life. None of her husbands had
wanted her in the physical sense, and apparently neither did the man who slept
right next to her, with an arm draped around her waist. For reasons she had
never quite been able to understand, men simply did not want her, did not,
could not, or would not desire her.

A miserable sigh passed through her lips. With a
heart full of melancholy, she carefully lifted away the furs, then Rowan’s hand
and quietly crawled away from him. She ran her fingers solemnly through her
hair. She kept her back to him for she knew, if she took the chance to look at
him, she would cry like a bairn. She’d done enough of that of late.

She shook the dried mud out of her boots, tugged
them on and stood. She looked down at her torn dress and shook her head.
Thankfully, her cloak would serve both as a means to keep warm and a way to
cover her torn dress.

Without looking back, or down at the beautiful man
slumbering on the floor, Arline quit the tent.

There was no doubt in Rowan Graham’s mind that he
was a dishonorable reprobate as well as a coward. He had taken liberty with a
sleeping and unaware woman, then, when she roused, he feigned sleep just to
avoid her
knowing
he was a dishonorable reprobate and a coward.

He waited a good long while before he
pretended
to wake, even going so far as to stretch and groan loudly. Aye, he was a
coward.

As he had lain in the empty tent he thought about
Arline. He was growing more fond of her as the hours passed. She
was
a
good woman even if she did have a way of saying whatever was on her mind. He
found he liked her blunt and straightforward manner.

Lily was quite attached to her as well and if his
gut was correct, Arline was attached to and fond of Lily. He couldn’t be
completely certain just yet, but Arline seemed to genuinely care for his
daughter, almost like a mother would.

It was, of course, too soon to tell. Mayhap theirs
was a bond formed out of the need for survival while at Blackthorn keep. Mayhap
Arline was this way with all children. He wondered how Arline would be with
Lily if she were to see her every day, on a more permanent basis and in less
stressful and traumatic conditions. Would she still caress Lily’s hair? Would
she still worry and fuss over her? Would Arline still insist, even in the face
of adversity, that Lily mind her manners?

There was only one way to find out and that was to
ask Arline to stay with them, live with him and Lily and his clan. How would
Arline respond to such an offer? Again, there was only one way to find out. He
would have to ask.

Shoring up his courage, he finally left the tent.
His men were busy breaking down their camp. Arline and Lily sat on a log near
the fire. Arline was running her fingers through Lily’s hair, apologizing for
the fact that she did not have a proper comb.

“I like how ye comb me hair, Lady Arline. You do
no’ hurt and pull it like da does,” Lily informed her. As Arline combed Lily’s
hair, Lily pretended to comb her doll’s non-existent hair with a twig.

A radiant smile formed on Arline’s lips. “I’m sure
yer da does the best that he can, sweeting. Ye should be grateful that ye have
a da who at least tries.”

Lily thought hard for a moment. “Did yer da comb
yer hair?” she asked innocently.

Arline’s smile quickly faded. Her father was a
subject which she did not enjoy discussing. “Nay, lass, he did no’.”

“Did yer mum comb yer hair?”

Arline smiled woefully. “Aye, when I was little
she did.”’

“Do ye miss her?”

Arline nodded. “Aye, I miss her verra much.”

Lily began to look sad and lost. “I didna get to
ken me mum, but I still miss her. Me da says she was pretty, like me, and verra
smart. He loved her verra much.”

Arline’s shoulder sagged slightly.
Aye,
’twasn’t me he kissed this morn. ’Twas his wife.
She did not hold his
actions against him. If he loved Lily’s mum as much as Lily believed he did,
then he probably missed her terribly.