Page 41 of Darach

“Are you planning to tie me to your bed?” She meant to make that sound like a joke, but her voice went low and husky. She saw the flare of heat in his eyes and an answering surge bloomed in her middle. “I’m kidding, of course. You can just bolt the door. I’ll sleep on a cot.”

“After tonight I shallnae sleep unless you slumber at my side.” His gaze shifted to her lips. “’Tis a big bed, and I’ll be your blanket. I’m a light sleeper, so any move you make shall wake me. Naught more shall happen.”

Charlotte had made up her mind to stay away from him, but after what had just happened she realized how dangerous that was––and how she needed him for more than her personal protection. She also wanted to kiss him so much her whole body throbbed with longing.

“I don’t want to sleep with you so I can keep warm.” She turned her head and pressed her lips to the side of his neck. “You’re not a blanket to me.”

“Wait, my lady,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Wait and ken you’re sure, for if you come to me, I shallnae resist. Nor shall I let you go again.” He turned to look into her face. “I darenae even kiss you now, for I fear I’ll drag you to the floor.”

“Emery advised me against that.” It should have been funny, but seeing the desire in his eyes made her curiously solemn, as if she stood poised to cross a threshold into a place that might be wonderful or terrible. “But you can kiss me any time that you want to.”

“I want more than kisses.” He bent his head, close enough for his breath to warm her mouth. “You ken that, aye?”

“That’s the problem.” Whatever distance she’d hoped to keep between them collapsed under the weight of her wanting him. “So do I.”

He turned his head so that his lips brushed across her cheek. “Then I’ll give you as much as you wish of me. You’ve only to reach for me, my beautiful lady, and I’m yours.”

* * *

Taveon stood outside the laird’s bedchamber, listening for a moment before he lifted his hand to knock. A light trill of laughter made him lower his hand again; he would not interrupt what he knew to be the only time Luthias and Emery had for themselves. Silently he walked down the passage to return to his quarters, and then changed direction and headed for the forge.

He found Camdyn banking the fire in the furnace, and glanced at the lengths of wood he’d set out on his work table. The presence of so much steel and iron around him made Taveon’s skin itch. He took care not to touch anything, for thanks to his weakness even momentary contact with any metal would burn and blister his flesh.

“I’m finished for the day,” the armorer said without looking at him. “Return on the morrow.”

“I saw you with Mistress Walsh, and I wish to ken something.” He picked up the wooden dagger she’d splintered, which was made of larch instead of the oak Camdyn always used for such pieces. “You gave her a practice blade made of softwood?”

“Aye, I whittled it from a piece of old cladding I found down by the loch. I reckoned ’twould soon snap in her hand.” Camdyn turned around, and the light from the lanterns showed his swollen nose and a deep cut on his chin. “While I make another, ’twill give Darach time to persuade her to cease training and find a pursuit better suited a wench.”

Taveon wondered who had given Camdyn’s face a pounding, and then saw the set of his jaw and decided against asking. “You’re a devious bastart.”

“High praise from the MacRoss master of trickery.” He closed the furnace door and removed his heavy gloves. “You didnae come to tirl my arse or speak of Mistress Walsh.”

“I found Darach out by the charcoal pit. He’d smashed his wash basin, or so he reckoned. I said naught of what did.” He removed the broken crossbow bolt he’d removed along with the shards and showed it to him. “’Twas knocked from his hands.”

Camdyn took the broken shaft and held it in the lantern light. “Someone wishes to end him. You didnae show him the damn thing?”

“He went inside before I spied it. I couldnae tell the direction or time of the shot, or if the assassin yet lingered. I’ve guards searching outside now, but ’tis likely he’d fled.” Taveon tapped one of the carved wooden fletches. “I’ve never seen such on crossbow bolts. You?”

“We fletch ours with leather, as do the Carack. To carve them thus takes time, and ’tis foolish, for most bolts may only be fired once before they’re ruined or lost.” He turned it over. “’Tis quality work, the broadhead. Only the forging, ’twasnae done here in the highlands.”

Taveon shook his head. “You cannae ken thus.”

Camdyn gave him a narrow look. “I’m the clan’s facking smith, and I ken the work of every other from here to the border of the lowlands. We forge swallowtail broadheads for battle, as the barbs cause more injury if they’re pulled from the wound. Your assassin’s bolt, ’tis a far simpler bodkin, and half a hand longer than highland smiths forge.” He inspected it again. “’Twas meant to pierce armor or chain mail, but ’twould do the same to an eye or heart.”

Taveon frowned. “Who could forge such, then?”

“’Twas a Norseman, or a smith taught by a Norseman. ’Twould explain the carving of the fletches as well.” He handed the broken bolt back to him. “Your assassin purchased these far from here. Out in the islands they’ve villages of folk who name raiders as blood-kin, and even still trade with them. Mayhap there, or in the Norse-held territories across the sea.”

“My thanks.” Taveon sighed. “’Tis the second attack on the chieftain. How could the bastart gain entrance to the stronghold so easily? I’ve spoken to every guard, and they’ve seen naught.”

“Arrange a signal for the guards to close all the gates at once,” Camdyn suggested. “Then if the intruder tries yet again, we may trap him inside the walls and corner him.”

Taveon considered that. “’Twould mean awaiting another attempt, which may never come.”

“After two such? You may expect another.” He pulled off his work apron and hung it by his bench. “Tell Darach your scheme, for he should ken someone’s hunting him.”

“I tried persuading him ride out with me to barter with Ramsay, but he shallnae leave Mistress Walsh unprotected.” He saw Camdyn’s scowl and suddenly put everything together. “So ’twas Darach bedecked your face.”