“She is,” Thomas agreed.
“A fact that I can attest to,” said a new voice echoing from the entryway. Alesone’s gaze cut to the tall, well-muscled knight with green eyes and raven-black hair. He smiled at her and arched a brow. “’Tis intriguing to know your skills extend beyond that of the bow.”
Heat stole up her face as the warrior referenced their first meeting near Bruce’s camp weeks before.
Additional knights filled the hallway behind him.
“Alesone,” Thomas said, as the trio entered the room, “you remember Sir Aiden MacConnell, Sir Cailin MacHugh, and Sir Rónán O'Connor.”
“Aye, a pleasure to see each of you again.” Alesone doubted any woman would forget meeting such intimidating men.
His father nodded. “I need to take account of the castle.”
Donnchadh stepped beside him. “I will accompany you.”
“My men—” Admiration shone in Thomas’s eyes. “Alesone and I will go with you as well.”
Pleased to be recognized as his equal, she cleaned and stowed her blade, then followed the group as they began to take stock of the damage.
Hours later, a soft knock sounded at the door.
Through the thick haze of sleep Alesone lifted her lids. She glanced toward the window, frowned at the blackness coating the sky. After her bath, exhausted, she’d fallen asleep. How long had she slept?
“Alesone,” Thomas whispered. “Open the door.”
Worried someone might hear him, she slid from the bed, rushed over, and jerked open the entry.
Like an indomitable force, Thomas stood framed within torchlight from nearby sconces.
Her hand clenched on the hewn wood, and she braced herself for the worst. “Has my father returned?”
Tenderness touched his face. “Nay. My men sent word a short while ago that the enemy has left.”
She sagged against the frame. “Thank God.”
He took her hand. “Come with me.”
Shaking off the last of the haze, she tugged her hand free, noted his hair was still damp from a recent bath. “I canna go out dressed in my chemise.”
Eyes hot with desire skimmed over her thinly clad body, and he drew her against him. “Aye—” He backed her up against the wooden entry until his body pressed flush against hers, then caught her mouth in a heated kiss until her every thought frayed. “—you should stay in your chamber, with me. Alone. Except”—he scraped his teeth along her throat, lingered—“what I must tell you is of the utmost importance.” On a groan he stepped back. “Don something warm. I will explain once we reach our destination.”
On shaky legs, she tossed on a warm gown and cape, wanting to remain, to take him to her bed, and fulfill her every fantasy.
At the end of the corridor, Thomas started up the turret.
She frowned. “Why are we going to the wall walk?”
In the sheen of torchlight, a tender smile curved his mouth. “You will see.”
Nerves flickered through her as she climbed the next step. “Naught is amiss?”
“Dair Castle is secure, or,” he said with frustration, “heavily guarded until the damage to the curtain walls is repaired.”
Confused by their nocturnal outing, she slowed. “This canna wait until morning? We could go to my chamber and—”
He drew in an unsteady breath. “Ah, lass, dinna tempt me.” He opened the door. Moonbeams cut through the darkness, streamed through the openings in the battlements like whispers of hope. As he halted before a squared tower of hewn stone, Thomas drew her to his side. “What do you see?”
Alesone tugged her cape tighter, then scoured the moonlit land beyond the crenel. “A loch and bens.”
