Mercifully, the sky was clear, the moon bright and the ground dry.
“And that dog got so excited?” her uncle continued loudly. “And then there was the hole in my boot where the pup bit me? And the boar came straight at the lad—?”
“Yes, Uncle, I’ve heard that story. Many times,” she finished under her breath, trying not so sound impatient, but in truth,she could recite that story herself. How Uncle Fergus had been visiting a clan to the north. How the weather had been perfect, until the storm rolled in. How Uncle Fergus and “the lad” had brought the most untrained, unprepared young hunting dog on the venture. How the dog had bit Uncle Fergus’s foot and put a hole in his boots—“And them brand-new the day before.” And then the taking off of the ruined boot and the charge of the boar, its eyes fierce, its mouth frothing, directly for the lad. And finally, how Uncle Fergus had tossed the boot aside, drawn his dirk and thrown it, killing the beast instantly.
They passed the guards at the foot of the apartments and started up the stairs. Her uncle was so unsteady on his feet, it was slow going, but eventually they reached his chamber.
“Here we are, Uncle,” she said as she shoved open the door with her shoulder and helped him inside.
“Thank you, my beauty,” he said as he sat heavily on the bed. “You go on to bed yourself.”
He lay on his side and in the next moment was fast asleep.
Sighing wearily, she tugged off his boots and covered him with the length of hisfeileadhthat normally hung over his shoulder. She kissed him good night and went out, closing the door softly behind her. At last, this long, troublesome, confusing day was nearly at an end.
“Is he all right?”
She jumped and her heart raced at the sound of the familiar deep voice behind her.
What was the lord of Dunkeathe doing there? she thought as she faced him. A torch in the wall sconce nearby flickered in the slight breeze coming in through the narrow windows, simultaneously lighting his face and putting other parts in shadow, so that it was hard to make out his expression clearly.
“He should be fine come the morning,” she replied. “He doesn’t usually drink so much,” she added, lest he think Uncle Fergus be prone to overimbibing, like Sir George.
“Neither does Roban. I suspect they drank as much as they did because they were together. It’s easy to lose track of how many you’ve had when you’re with a fellow like Roban.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” She started sidling toward the stairs. She didn’t want to be alone with the lord of Dunkeathe, especially standing in a corridor where anyone might see them. “I should ensure that everything that needs to be done in the kitchen has been done, and then I should retire, too. I’ll have much to do tomorrow.”
“The evening meal was excellent. My sister and brother-in-law were very impressed.” He reached out and brushed her cheek with his knuckle, the tender action surprising her, and sending tremors of pleasure through her body. “Don’t worry about what those others might think,” he said softly. “I’m sure the men have all been at least as drunk as that once, if not several times. I’ve been that drunk myself on occasion.”
Why did he have to look at her that way? Why couldn’t he be arrogant and haughty, so that she could hate him? “I don’t care what those Normans think.”
“Yes, you do. I saw the look on your face when you came into the hall.”
He sounded so sympathetic. So gentle. So tender.
He cupped his hands on her shoulders.
So strong. So welcome.
She mustn’t give in to this raging yearning inside her. She should walk away and leave him.
He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Whatever happens, I’m glad you and your uncle came to Dunkeathe.”
She twisted away from him. His touch, his kiss, were just his attempt to seduce her while he chose another.
“Of course you’re glad,” she charged. “My presence placates the Scots, and my uncle amuses you.”
His gaze full of sincerity, he shook his head. “No, Riona, not just for that. Your uncle’s teaching me many things about livestock, things I’ve never considered.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “And you’re teaching me how much is missing from my life.”
He kissed her tenderly on her cheek. Then her eyelids. Then her nose. And then, at last, her mouth.
It was like sinking into a warm bath. Not this time the fiery passion, or fervent embrace. This time, it was languid longing, lazy yearning, as if they had all the time in the world to love.
As if she was safe and secure, and would always be protected by his strong arms. As if she was not just desired, but cherished and beloved.
How could she not welcome his embrace and give herself over to the feelings he inspired?
Yet it was he who stopped first. He tucked a lock of hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear and whispered, “Riona, I wish…”
