A Sword Upon The Rose (10 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

I
AIN
CLASPED
HER
ELBOW
, guiding her down the corridor. Alana was acutely aware of his touch, of his presence and his proximity.

But even so, she remained afraid. She should have refused his offer to dine. It was too late now.

His step also slowed. “What is wrong?” Iain asked softly.

She smiled nervously. “I am weary, that is all.”

His brow lifted. “Are ye still frightened?” he asked. “Did I not promise to protect ye—even from the king?”

He sensed her unease, she thought. “Yes.”

“Maybe one day ye will tell me the truth—and why ye fear the king so much.”

He clasped her hand and pulled her forward, toward the open doors of the hall.

“I am the king’s enemy,” she said.

He gave her a glance, indicating that he knew, very well, that there was far more to her fear than such a simple explanation. He was astute. How long could she deceive him, when she did not even want to?

It was so hard not to stare at him. Without the fur he habitually wore, she could see the hard, muscular outline of his shoulders, his chest and torso through his clothes. He was a tall, powerfully built man. He had to be three times her size, and all male muscle. And he still held her hand. Her mouth was dry.

He smiled slightly, as if he knew how discomfited—and interested—she was. “Come. Ye must be hungry, as am I.”

She tried to smile at him and wondered if she succeeded. As she did, she glanced past him and into the great hall.

A great feast was taking place within it. Alana looked past everyone there, a huge crowd of knights, nobles, women and Highland men, and she instantly saw Robert Bruce.

She had seen his likeness once or twice, and even if she had not, she would have instantly known which man was Scotland’s king.

He was simply impossible to mistake. He was a giant among men, although taller men were present. He was handsome and powerfully built, although others were more so. And he was superbly dressed. A red doublet over a blue surcote, red hose sheathing his powerful legs above his black boots. A red-and-gold mantle swung about his shoulders. He wore gold rings, a gold chain, a gold cross.

But mostly, he had an air of power and authority—and the presence of a warrior and a king.

It occurred to her then that she might deceive Iain through evasion, with female manipulations, and the attraction they shared. But Bruce would not be so easily fooled.

However, the hall was so crowded that there was no room left to sit or stand. It would be so easy to enter it and go unremarked. Yet Alana remained uneasy.

She ducked her head, averting her face from all those they passed, as they walked inside the great hall. Alana tried to make herself even smaller than she was, shrinking against his side. If he noticed her behavior, he did not remark it. Fortunately the crowd was mostly inebriated. A few men shouted a greeting to him. Iain did not pause. He led her to one of the many makeshift tables that had been erected in the room.

Alana was clinging to his hand. She glanced carefully at the table, standing somewhat behind Iain. Every possible seat was taken. It crossed her mind that they might have to leave—and she would not mind, this was simply too stressful—when Iain tapped a man on the shoulder and a place was instantly vacated for her. Inhaling, Alana slid onto the bench, Iain standing behind her.

A quick look around the table told her that she was surrounded by strangers, all of them English knights in Bruce’s service, from his lands in Carrick and Annandale. Alana flung a glance over her shoulder, past Iain. Bruce was surrounded by a large group of enthralled admirers, mostly noblemen in jewels and knights wearing their swords, as well as several very beautiful women. He was engrossed with his friends, and she was relieved.

Iain laid a hand on her shoulder and bent over her. “Perhaps ye will enjoy the evening now.” His chest pressed upon her shoulder and his arm against her breast, while his breath feathered her nape.

Alana felt her mind go blank. At the same time, her heart raced.

Then, before she could wonder at what he was he doing, Iain shoved his way onto the bench next to her.

There was no room to accommodate him, yet he pushed between her and the man next to her, forcing a place to be made. His large, powerful body wedged against hers, from shoulder to hip and hip to knee. He smiled at her, then handed her a mug of wine. “Drink and ye will feel better,” he said.

Alana was shocked. Did he mean to seduce her? He had deliberately pressed his body against hers a moment ago, she was certain. She seized her mug and drank. It was so hard to think clearly!

He handed her a slab of bread with a piece of cheese upon it. Their gazes collided as he did. Alana was certain her cheeks flamed, and she hurriedly looked away.

“I am glad ye were not more scathed from this battle.”

She set the bread and cheese down, untouched. Her pounding pulse made eating impossible. His tone was so soft, so intimate. “You were once—so recently—suspicious of me.”

“Ye were once—so recently—suspiciously spying from the wood.” He smiled and ate.

Alana looked away, somewhat breathless, and took a bite of the cheese. His smiles were making him seem like a different man—as if he were not Bruce’s ruthless warrior. “I wasn’t spying.”

He was piling up a plate with roasted game and warm bread. “Even if ye were, that was then, and this is now.” He set the huge plate down in front of her. “Ye need yer strength, Alana. Eat.”

He began preparing another plate. Alana stared at the food, unable to fathom his words. Did he still think she had been spying? If so, why had he kissed her at Boath Manor, and why was he so kind to her now?

Iain began to devour his food, without pause, fast and furiously. Alana lifted her knife and stabbed a piece of venison. She had no appetite. They would be finished dining, soon. And then what?

Something was changing between them. It was almost as if they were friends, and upon the brink of becoming lovers.

If he asked her to bed, should she accept?

He was the enemy, and she only had to look over her shoulder at Robert Bruce to know so. And she was keeping so many secrets from him. He did not know she was Buchan’s niece—or that she was a witch.

Her mind raced, her thoughts jumbled up with conflicting worries and strange yearnings—Iain, Bruce, her identity, her visions, Iain’s kiss....

“Why won’t ye eat?” Iain asked flatly.

Still acutely aware of how they sat next to one another, Alana managed a tight smile. “Why will you let us return to Brodie tomorrow?” she asked softly, so no one could overhear.

He shoved his plate away, pouring more wine into his mug from the pitcher. He took a sip and turned to face her. “Is there a reason ye should be kept a prisoner? Ye keep telling me yer no spy.”

“Of course not!” She flushed. “And I was not a spy. It is just that...today you are kind.”

His face tightened. “Ye were beaten and imprisoned. I think ye have suffered enough unkindness today.”

“They say you are ruthless!” she exclaimed, shoving her own, very full, plate away.

He looked down at his plate. “Are we on the battlefield? Are ye a soldier—a knight?”

She somehow shook her head.

He faced her and said, abruptly, “Ye will not eat?”

She took a breath. “I cannot.”

He leaped to his feet, and pulled her to stand, as well. His blue eyes were as dark as storm clouds. “Then we are done here.”

Her heart thundered as he grasped her arm and guided her through the crowd. His strides were rushed, and Alana almost ran to keep up.

Once in the hall outside, they were alone, the sounds of laughter and conversation dull and distant. Iain halted, still holding her arm. “I did not expect to meet again, so soon after the battle at Boath Manor.” His hand climbed to her face. He caressed her cheek and moved a long tendril of hair aside. It had been caught on her breast.

She shivered. “What did you think?”

“I thought,” he said, his stare far too direct, “that I’d visit ye at Brodie Castle.”

Her mind was dazed. There was no doubt as to his meaning—as to why he would have come to Brodie to see her. “That might have been difficult.”

“I doubt it would be difficult, Alana.” He leaned over her, bracing the corner of the hall with both hands, locking her between his arms. “And if I had come...would ye let me in?”

Inches separated his chest from hers. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper.

Triumph flared in his eyes, and he wrapped her in his arms, kissing her.

Alana had thought their one previous kiss hard and demanding, but it was nothing like the kiss now. His mouth opened hers, forcefully, instantly, and his tongue swept deep, filling her. She found herself against the wall, off her feet and holding on to his shoulders. He kissed her again, and again, and again, until she could not stand the intensity of her desire, until she began to pant and whimper. Her body had become hot and swollen, explosive. She had never felt so desperate to be with a man.

He pulled away. “Ye can check on yer gran later.”

She realized she was not being given any choice in the matter of going to his bed—not that she even knew if she could, or would, deny him. But his arm was a vise about her waist now as he pulled her downstairs.

“Where are we going?” she managed to ask.

He rushed her down a steep stairwell. “Every room is full. Do ye wish for company?” His smile was brief. “I want ye to myself.”

They had reached the ground floor, which was rough and dank, with only a few torches lit on the walls. “We are in the cellars?”

“We are in the cellars.” He pulled her into his arms. “Alana. Dinna deny me.”

In his arms, the shock dissipated. “I don’t know,” she managed to say.

His answer was to catch her face in his hands and kiss her again, as hard and passionately as before.

Desire exploded within her, and it was mindless, insane. She seized his shoulders, finally kissing him back.

He groaned, as their teeth caught, as their tongues met and mated. Then he pulled away, breathing hard, looking around. He pulled off his plaid, making a pallet on the stone floor, behind a pile of sacks of wheat. Before Alana could move, he had divested her of her mantle, which was fur-lined, and added that to the pallet he had just made. Kneeling, he looked up.

Her belly was hollow; she felt faint. She would worry about what she was doing tomorrow! Alana held out her hand.

He took it, rising, and guided her back into his arms, and as one, they sank onto the cloaks. Slowly, Iain came down on top of her, hooking the skirt of his leine in his belt. He smiled at her, but it belied the blaze in his eyes.

“Are ye a virgin?” he asked.

She nodded, trying not to glance at his erect manhood and then giving up. He was massively proud.

And his eyes blazed, clearly triumphant. “Do ye like what ye see? Are ye pleased with me?” he whispered roughly.

And he found her mouth. But this time, his lips were like feathers, gentle, plying and teasing.

Alana closed her eyes as pleasure washed over her. She was incapable of answering.

He feathered kisses down her neck and along the edge of her bodice, while pulling up her skirts. And then one of his strong knees moved between her thighs, opening them.

Alana cried out, her eyes flying open, as she seized his strong shoulders. Something ballooned in her heart. It was huge, buoyant—it felt like love.

“I need ye, Alana,” Iain said hoarsely. His expression strained, Iain seized her bodice and ripped open all her garments at once. He gathered her up, and she felt his penis against her, rock-hard and slick. Their gazes met.

The pleasure surging between them was stunning. Alana gasped and moved her calves over his back.

“Ye have amazed me as no other,” he murmured, and then he kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep.

Alana held him harder, clawing at him now, kissing him back.

He broke the kiss, panting, and rose up over her. Their eyes locked. And then he surged into her, crying out, grunting.

Alana cried out, as well. The pain was brief. Instead, pleasure blinded her.

She threw her legs higher around his waist. He slowed his rhythm, and their gazes met again. And the moment they did, she could no longer bear it. The pleasure became ecstasy.

* * *

H
E
PULLED
HER
into his arms. “Have I hurt ye?”

Alana labored to breathe. Her mind began to clear. They had just made love—explosively, mindlessly. “No.” Her heart was racing wildly, but it still held that huge, buoyant feeling, as well.

Still keeping one arm around her, he reached down and pulled off each boot in turn. Then he leaned over her to kiss one of her taut, still aching nipples. “I owe ye a gown.” He now reached between them and removed his belts. The sheathed swords hit the stone floors loudly.

Alana realized he had torn her clothing open from collarbone to navel. She began to blush. A torch was on the wall, somewhere behind them, and she lay in the light while he remained in shadows.

He laid his hand on her ribs, beneath her breasts. “Ye dinna have to hide from me. I have never seen as beautiful a woman.”

Her heart thundered. Desire returned, instantaneous.

Alana took his hand and moved it over her breast. “You do not have to flatter me.”

“I do.” He removed her hand and kissed her breasts. “I will,” he said, nuzzling her. “Ye have amazed me from the moment we met, with yer beauty, yer courage, yer kindness.”

She lay back, letting the pleasure grow and spread. “I am a simple woman, Iain,” she said.

“There’s nothing simple about ye—yer deep like the oceans, so deep, I wonder about ye all the time.” He nuzzled her ear.

She thought about the secrets she kept, and hated them.

“I want ye again, Alana, I always will.” His kisses went lower, down her ribs.

Her pleasure became a restless yearning; she moaned.

His fingers floated over her thighs, her sex. “And I’m fiercely pleased ye were a virgin—that I am yer first man.”