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The comb was tossed aside and he stepped over the bench to stand in front of her. His hands slid down her arms, lifting her to her feet. She stared at the pulse throbbing in the base of his strong throat.
“Come lie wi’ me on the bed,” he murmured, rubbing her back now, each caress subtly urging her closer and closer to him. Her nipples tingled in anticipation. Closer… their bodies touched, and she swallowed a gasp.
“No—I…” Her disjointed refusal trailed off, lost as his arms closed around her, lifted her on her toes to bring them together more firmly.
“I willna hurt ye.” His breath was hot on her ear as he nibbled the lobe, and licked the small hollow beneath.
She knew he likely would, though not deliberately. She had seen him naked, though she had tried not to dwell on it; she had felt him in their dreams. His size wasn’t limited to his height. To her dismay, the thought of such intimate discomfort wasn’t the deterrent she would have preferred.
Her hands were flattened against his chest, and she had to clench them into fists to keep them from sliding around his neck. Even that small a surrender would be the one step too far, because they were both trembling. Amazed, she felt the quivering of that strong body, the result of fierce need tightly leashed.
“Lass…” His mouth slid across the underside of her jaw, planting small kisses as it went. His hands knew no boundaries; they cupped her bottom, lifting her to even closer contact. His erection pushed hard against the juncture of her thighs.
Ford.
In despair Grace wrenched herself away and fled to the other side of the table, a flimsy barrier he could dispose of with one flick of his hand if he chose, but she knew he wouldn’t force her. Seduce her, yes, with his devastatingly successful technique of alternating subtlety with boldness. He wasn’t a man who found force either desirable or necessary.
He was very still, watching her from beneath heavy lids.
She clenched her hands together, turning her wedding ring around and around, using the small symbol to remind her of both loyalty and betrayal. The ring was so loose now she worried about losing it, and had developed the habit of checking to make certain it was still there.
He was waiting.
“I’m a widow,” she said, forcing out the word. Her throat constricted, and she swallowed. “My husband is the only man I’ve ever—” She stopped, and couldn’t say more. She didn’t need to.
“Did ye love him, then?”
She swallowed again at his swift understanding. “Yes, I do.” The words were almost inaudible.
He walked around the table. She stood her ground, though she wanted to flee. Niall cupped her face, a hint of a smile on his firmly molded lips, understanding in his dark eyes. “’Tis new to ye, wanting another man. Ye think it a betrayal of him that yer body, which has known only him, should quicken against mine.”
“It is,” she whispered.
“And yet ye came here, knowing how it is between us. Your body is ready. Your mind needs a bit more time.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll not force ye, lass, but I’ll no leave ye for long in an empty bed. Ye’ll learn my kisses, and my touch, while your thoughts settle.”
She thought he would kiss her then. Her lips parted in anticipation of the pressure, the taste, the wildness. Instead he dropped his hand and str
olled to the door, his tall, muscular body as graceful as a dancer’s. “I would like to think you came to Creag Dhu because of me, and what we both want.” He spoke now in precise English, the easy burr of his Scots accent gone. “But gratitude did not make me a fool, nor does lust. Until I know your true reason for being here, you’ll not be allowed freedom within my castle. Someone will be with you at all times during the day, and at night you will be locked in either your chamber—” He paused, black eyes glittering. “Or mine.”
Chapter 23
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO DO ANY SEARCHING AT ALL. ALICE WAS with her every moment of the day, except when she used the garderobe. Rather than intensify Niall’s suspicions, Grace willingly followed in Alice’s busy footsteps, listening to the chatter and increasing her understanding of both the Scots dialect and a little of Gaelic, as her mind began to associate pronunciation of a few words with the spelling she knew.
The advantage of being with Alice was that the woman’s duties carried her all over the castle. Without having to sneak about, Grace quickly became familiar with the different rooms. She tried to think where the most secure hiding place for the Treasure would be; Creag Dhu had a dungeon, much larger than the one at Hay Keep, but the dungeon was such an obvious choice she doubted it would be correct. Nevertheless she would have liked to inspect it, but could hardly ask Alice for a tour.
The wine cellar was an interesting possibility, dark and cool, with casks and racks that could conceal a hiding place. “Are there any hidden tunnels?” she asked Alice. “A way to escape if the castle is under attack?”
“Aye,” Alice said readily enough. “There’s a passage leads to the sea, should it be needed, but my thinking is that ’tis safer in the castle than without. Lord Niall has built the best defenses in Scotland,” she boasted. “We could withstand a siege for a year or more.”
As she followed Alice about, Grace was struck by how natural everything seemed. Of course, she had the advantage of her education in medieval languages and culture so that she was at least technically familiar with much about the normal lifestyle, but not even when she first awoke was she disoriented. It was as if her mind had neatly slotted itself into the time. Why, yes, of course meat was salted for preservation, and milk had to be churned, and herbs had to be scattered on the floor rushes to keep them sweet-smelling. Her taste buds had adjusted immediately to the plain fare, accepting that there was little seasoning to be had. When Alice sat her down with a needle and a linen sheet that needed mending, Grace didn’t even think of how easy it would be to go to a department store and simply buy new sheets instead of mending the old ones. Instead she took pains to make tiny, even stitches.
She had made a mistake in her clothing, she realized. Cotton wouldn’t make an appearance in Europe for quite some time, and velvet was reserved for royalty. No wonder Huwe had been impressed by her velvet gown! He had probably thought her a foreign princess, and anticipated a huge ransom for her return. Luckily her cotton kirtle was unbleached and the finish wasn’t shiny, so at least it didn’t look rich. Since Grace obviously wasn’t a Scot, her strange clothing hadn’t elicited any suspicion from Alice, who had taken the garment to be washed, or from the woman who washed it. She would keep the velvet surcoat hidden, though. She wanted to check her hiding place and make certain the bag was still safely tucked away, but she reasoned that if it had been found she would have heard, and it was more likely to remain hidden if she didn’t attract attention to the area.
Niall trained with his men all day, or hunted, or patrolled the area around the castle. If he returned for a noon meal, Grace didn’t see him. She heard the clash of swords in the courtyard but didn’t go to watch. The sight of his muscled body, sweaty and half naked, would not help shore her resolve.
She hadn’t known lust could be so powerful, so consuming. Even though Alice kept her busy, her thoughts went time and again to that expert, devilishly knowing touch on her neck, to his kiss, the silky brush of his long hair against her face. He was so wonderfully barbaric and untamed, yet astonishingly well educated and sophisticated. She managed in his time with prior knowledge and training; she suspected he would manage as well in hers without those benefits, by the sheer determination of his character and the force of his intellect.
She tried to think of Ford, but he seemed so far away. A year had passed, a year in which she had had none of his things to touch and hold and weep over. She hadn’t dared let herself think of him too much, and now when she needed to she couldn’t quite capture his face, or the quality of his voice.
