Shana Abe (24 page)

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” she said to it, holding still. “Go on, it’s yours.”

The bird hopped forward and picked up the crumb, then fluttered away.

“So, the people are not enough for you, my lady. You think to feed even the animals of Sauveur?”

As if just the image of him in her mind had summoned him to her, Marcus was here. He blocked the entrance to the round room, making a huge shadow that draped over the thistles and stone and grass, edging into her lap. The birds above grew silent at once, then rushed around in circles up to the sky.

“Shouldn’t you be off counting your blessings?” Avalon replied, then took a bite of cheese.

“Consider them counted.”

He came forward through the thistles, stepping carefully around the hidden barbs in the weeds. “I have discovered an interesting method of locating you, Avalon. I think of the most deserted place, and there you are.”

“How convenient for you,” she said wiltingly.

“Aye, indeed. It brings me much solace, knowing where I can find you.”

He chose a rock much like hers, fallen haphazard into the room from above, embraced by the grass. It set him across from her, with a rectangular window just to his left, a framed picture of colorful hills, a meandering river in a valley that emptied out into a small, rounded loch.

She tried to go on eating, ignoring him, but he made it impossible, even though he stayed silent. He watched her every move with sharp winter eyes, he sat there and brooded before her, and again she felt as if he were trying to understand her, the heart of her, her deepest secrets.

“Is there something you want of me, my lord?” Avalon asked, giving up, putting aside her food.

The change in him was certain and fleet, a darkening of his eyes, a small twist to the curve of his lips.

“Aye, most surely,” he said.

There could be no doubt of his implication. She had to look down at the grass to hide her reaction, a flush of heat, a tug that led her back to him.

“What will you be doing with the rest of your clothes now, I wonder, Avalon?” His voice had not lost its sensual undertone. “Do you think to wear them instead of the tartan?”

She had not considered it. When she had told the
emissaries she wanted more than this plaid, it had been merely words to her, another tool to convince them to send the trunks. But now Avalon saw that the arrival of her clothing could be seen as a rejection of the Kincardines. And she didn’t want that.

Ridiculous, her mind scolded. Don’t let anyone dictate to you how to dress! You are not a serf!

But she heard herself say, “Take the gowns. Sell them. They’ll fetch a fine price.”

He arched one eyebrow at her words, leaned back on the stone with a hand around his knee. “As much as I like the idea of you being without them, I wouldn’t sell your clothing.”

Avalon pressed her lips together, resolving to ignore his double meaning. “Why not? I have more.”

“For one thing, it doesn’t appear that I need to. You have bestowed rubies and pearls aplenty.”

She shrugged, looking out at the winding river, the silver-black loch.

“And was this why you sent for the trunks?”

“Of course,” she snapped. “I could hardly ask Bryce to fetch me my jewels so that I might give them away.”

He was silent, absorbing this, his stare never wavering. It was unnerving to her after a long moment, and so she stood up and brushed the bread crumbs off her lap, then walked around the sitting stones and past him, to the window with the view. Marcus spoke to her back.

“So now I must contemplate what my bride will do next. You think you’ve saved the clan, isn’t that right? You thought to rout out the curse and bypass the legacy. You thought that a bestowal of jewels would end your obligation to Sauveur, and you could leave.”

She
had
thought that, more or less, and wondered why it didn’t feel as wonderful right now as it should have. And who was he to belittle her efforts? Why should he take her to task with that slightly mocking tone when all she had wanted to do was help him and his people?

“The coming cold will not be so harsh now, you cannot deny it,” she said. “Your spring will have new seed, new cattle. I fail to see how you need me any longer.”

“You fail to see how I need you? I hardly think so.”

She bit her lip at her mistake, but he continued.

“I think you see everything quite clearly, Avalon. You see how the people need you. You see how I need you.”

She turned. “What I see is that you now have the means to stave off want. With careful management, your clan will prosper for ages to come. This is my gift to you. I would not scorn it.”

He stood, a little too close, a little too fast, surprising her again with his lithe nobility. “I never said I scorned it.”

“Excellent. Then we have nothing further to discuss.”

The winter cold in his eyes did not lighten. “Do you think to seek your nunnery now?”

She didn’t want to. Avalon knew it right away, as soon as he said it, that the idea of leaving to join a convent had become nothing but dreary and bleak. Endless days, endless routines, solitude, lasting reflection, stoic women, only those thing? for the rest of her life. It had seemed bearable before; at one point it might have even been a welcome respite from the turmoil of London.

But not today. Today, with this man in front of her—so
large and sure of himself, so handsome as to make her even now look away from him before the blush overcame her—the thought of a nunnery was almost worse than anything. And yet it was all she had left herself.

“There is nothing to stop me from leaving,” she said, trying to make the words real for both of them. “At a convent I may retire in peace.”

“Oh,” he replied, low. “I thought we had already covered that.”

It took almost nothing to lean down and kiss her, he was so close already, and she had nowhere to go. His touch was light but commanding, an exploration of the shape of her lips, the softness of her. Avalon took a breath against him and he took it back, hands now firm on her, pulling her to him.

The passion flared from nowhere, it swirled through her so that her arms wound up around his shoulders, she fell into the solid form of him, she flowed into him and he into her, holding her tight. His hand cupped the nape of her neck, his fingers caressed the curve of her jaw, brushed down to the delicate shape of her throat, her shoulders.

She was lost, hopelessly lost and didn’t care, as long as Marcus held her and kissed her like this, hard and ruthless now, something deeper and wilder than before.

“Avalon,” he said against her throat, pressing a kiss there, “I don’t want to argue with you.”

He was going to win, she realized, because she was unable to stop him, she couldn’t make him stop kissing her, she couldn’t block out the feel of his body against her, hard muscles and rigid lines. The honey of his lips,
his mouth, was back, drugging her. She couldn’t help but kiss him back.

“Please,” she gasped, one last effort, and the roughness of his cheek stung hers, a painful pleasure. “Go away.”

“I can’t.” He shifted his arms around her. “I can’t.”

Marcus used his body to take them both down to the ground, cushioning her but not yielding his embrace, until she was flat on the grass and the sky was a dizzying ring of blue above her, framed in jagged stones.

His weight was something unexpected and alarming, not crushing but holding her completely, taut against her, his leg between hers, his thigh pressing up against a place that filled her with hot desire.

She turned her head to the side and he followed her there, relentless, using his mouth to torment her, to whisper her name across her cheekbones, down to her ear, back again. There was a rhythm that was taking her against her will, it blossomed in that place where he touched her, it left her short of breath and he began to match it, moving with her, something fiery and hard against her leg, and he shifted down her, his hands on her breasts, skimming them, causing her to arch into him more.

His hand was farther now, finding her skirts, pulling them up and aside until he caressed her bare skin and she turned toward him, dazed but wanting more of this, craving his touch. His fingers found where his thigh had pressed, the center of her, and Avalon let out a startled sound that he took with his lips and covered as he began to caress her there.

The honey was inside her now, overpowering her, it was molten flame, suffusing every part of her, and he
knew it; she felt his fierce smile against her, his kisses more urgent.

“Stay with me,” he said, mastering her, and she could only close her eyes and shake her head, the honey made her mute.

“You will stay.” He slipped a finger inside of her and she let out a sob, pressing into him.

“You will,” he murmured, “truelove.”

Everything caught and rose in her, shattered apart in an explosion of clenching pleasure, a storm that left her weak and spent amid the grass.

The circle of the sky above her burned her eyes now, she had to shut them to block out the light, to hide from its openness.

Marcus moved his hand, pulling down her skirts again. “You will stay.” He kissed her lips, lightly now. “You belong here, with me.”

I love you
, came the thought, and Avalon didn’t know if it was from her or him or the wind, or just an echo from the chimera.

Marcus pulled her upright, brushed off the grass and leaves that clung to her as he would do for a child, turning her around until she was neat again, only the flush of her skin telling of something beyond the ordinary. He smoothed her hair back; she felt his fingers in her braid, tucking and weaving, slow and careful.

When he was done she looked up at him and he down at her, and there was something almost like pain in his eyes.

“It’s time to sup,” he said, quiet, and then he took her arm and led her back inside the keep.

Chapter Ten
 

T
he lamp was low on oil, and the flame was beginning to sputter too much for Avalon to decipher the cramped lettering on the ledger she was reviewing.

“ ‘Seven full-blooded … Angles’?” she read aloud.

“I believe that is ‘Angus,’ milady.”

Ellen leaned over Avalon’s shoulder, frowning down at the faded writing. “Of course,” she added hastily, “I cannot be sure.”

“No, you’re right.” Avalon slumped back in Marcus’s chair and closed her eyes, blocking out the dim yellow light.

Ellen was Avalon’s personal choice for the role of steward for Sauveur. She was the wife of one of the warriors, and after Avalon’s dramatic show in the bailey, no one dared voice opposition to her choosing a woman for the coveted position.

Ellen was bright, willing, and enthusiastic. She had an instinctive way of grasping matters at their root, and she could add and subtract large numbers in her head. No one else had come close to being as good. When Avalon told Marcus her choice, he had merely agreed, saying he was sure she knew what she was doing.

Full-blooded Angles. If only Marcus could see her now, hunched over these papers in his solar in the darkest night with burning eyes and a headache.

“Go to sleep,” Avalon said to her pupil, who looked up from the ledger in surprise.

“To sleep? But milady, there is so much to do—”

“And we have come far in two days, I think. Have you not noticed how quiet it is, Ellen? Everyone else has retired.”

The other woman looked around at the shadowy room, the guttering lamp. “Nathan!” she exclaimed, standing.

“Go on,” said Avalon. “Your husband is waiting for you.”

This was a fact. Nathan seemed to be completely devoted to his wife, and proud that Avalon had picked her from the many volunteers for the stewardship. He had even gone so far as to bring both women their dinners as they worked this evening. That was hours ago now.

Ellen curtsied and apologized. Avalon waved her away, smiling as Ellen almost ran for the door.

And Avalon, who had no husband to run to, took a moment of self-indulgence and leaned her forehead on the back of her hand, closing her eyes again.

Five days ago Marcus had met her in the abandoned gatehouse. Five days ago her entire perspective on the world had changed forever, all because of him. Five days ago Avalon had learned that she could be nothing more than a slave to her own senses, and that the laird of the Kincardines knew it, and knew how to control her with it.

Humbling, embarrassing, intoxicating. He had touched her and her defenses had been ground to dust—nothing left but him, the desire for him, the hunger for more. He had unearthed a vital element in her that she had not even suspected existed, and he had used it expertly. And Avalon knew he would use it again, if she let him.

If she wanted him to.

With one last spark and a hiss, the flame from the lamp died, the last defense against the darkness. Now the room was lit only by thin moonlight, reflected shine from the clouds outside. She liked it better like this, actually.

“Oh, go to sleep,” she said to herself, stretching.

The tiny room they kept her in had long ago lost its slight appeal. It wasn’t that it was ill kept or too plain. Putting the pallet under the window helped fight the old feelings she always got from unbroken darkness, and she invariably left at least one lamp lit for the night. Yet it never seemed like enough.