She could not bear it if he did, could not bear it if he did not. He would not return. He had taken himself away saying that, in essence, he could not trust himself to remain near her. That he wanted to lay her down on the rug before the hearth and take her as only a man could take a woman.
If he did…if he did, he would kiss her everywhere. Move above her. Move inside her. How easy would it be to take him unawares then and plunge her knife into the place where his pulse beat so strong?
She needed to seduce him. And, aye, that would be distressingly easy, if she let herself. She needed to kill him.
She did not know that she could perform the act. Either of the acts. She sat down at last in the sunlight at the window and began to pray.
*
Rory spent theday at the training field working his men and himself till the pain of the wound in his back roared at him, and he wanted to drop. He would not consider returning to see Saerla MacBeith. But all through that day, in a curious way, she accompanied him.
The memory of a red-gold curl clinging to his fingers as he plunged his hand into her hair. Warm silk. The way she tasted, lips and breast. The way she’d trembled with urgency in his arms.
Urgency. She had wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
That thought—and the truth of it—distracted him so badly he almost had his head taken off by one of his own men. She might try to deny it. He had felt the truth.
He needed to see her again. He could not.
He took himself back to his study, aching for his own bed and Saerla in it, only to find Leith there ahead of him, waiting. Pain and frustrated impatience made him snap at his cousin.
“Well? Ha’ ye made up yer mind?”
Leith, who’d been sitting in the chair by the table, got to his feet.
“I am sorry, cousin. I canna take yer letter to MacBeith.”
The last of Rory’s forbearance fled. “Canna, or will no’?”
“I canna.”
“Yer woman,” Rory sneered, “will no’ gi’ ye permission?”
“’Tis to do wi’ Rhian, aye, but no’ her permission. Sit down and let me explain.”
“I ha’ no time for yer mewling explanations. Ye ha’ left yer balls back in yer quarters, in her keeping.”
Leith did not flare to anger. He rarely did. But his gaze turned to ice.
“Leave off wi’ being a bastard, Rory. Sit ye down and listen to me.”
Rory sat, but only because the pain in his back demanded it. After giving him a narrow look, Leith poured a whisky and slid it toward him.
“Drink that.”
Rory did. The fiery liquor helped, though it did nothing to soothe the other blaze that raged inside him.
Leith came and sat opposite him, lacing his hands together between his knees. Rory could not help but notice that Leith’s injured arm served him better than it had.
“Speak, then,” Rory tossed at him. “Tell me why ye withhold yer loyalty.”
“I canna go to MacBeith because I canna leave Rhian.”
“She will no’ allow it?”
“Nay. ’Tis no’ that. This is my decision and mine alone. I canna leave her alone here among enemies. Not while—”
“I am here, am I no’? D’ye think I will not protect my cousin’s woman?”
