Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (20 page)

She remained silent, and for a moment he thought he felt her tremble the slightest bit. But in a second she spoke, her tone sure. "Do ye, mayhap, have a wish to die? Might there be some kind of prestige in being killed by the Rogue of Dun Ard?"

"In truth, I believe your father is beginning to like me."

"Every time I meet ye I think ye are more deluded than the last. I would not have thought it possible."

"I am hardly worth killing," he said. He kept his tone casual, but her nearness was doing strange and unwelcome things to his system, a system so carefully trained that he would have thought it almost beyond such distraction. Yet even now the wild, primitive scent of her filled his lungs like opium, entrancing him.

She paused for a moment, then her fingers loosened in his hair and she stepped toward her door with a nod. "Ye're right, I suppose. I would hate to spill blood in the passageway."

In a moment they were inside her chamber together.

For the second night in a row they were alone in a room with her dressed in naught but a nightrail and his heart racing along like that of a mountain colt's.

She licked her lips. He watched the movement, watched the small, pink tip swipe her sweet lips, and suddenly, against his will, against all good judgment, he took a step toward her.

For an instant she remained as she was, then she stepped rapidly back, as if afraid he might touch her. "Are ye going to tell me why ye're sneaking around my room, or shall we simply wait for my father to come along and stick your head on a pike?"

He grinned. “Considering the options, I believe I shall tell you."

She waited.

Time slipped away, filling his mind with her potent presence.

"Mayhap I simply could not be away from you any longer," he said finally. He had meant to say the words with some sarcasm, to hold to the image he had tried to create of himself. But instead the words came out breathy, earnest.

Her eyes were as wide as forever as she watched him. But in a moment she shook her head.

"And mayhap ye are planning some mischief."

"Such as?"

"I dunna know. But it seems every time ye are near I find myself all aflu... in trouble."

She had nearly said he made her all aflutter. That slip of the tongue should have made him smile, but in that moment he noticed that the ties of her nightrail had come loose, and somehow that knowledge made his mouth too dry to muster a grin.

"In truth," he said, doing his best to sound casual. "I dunna think I can be blamed for either Blind William's blue ram or the failing garden wall."

"That was not my fault," she said, looking peeved that her father had told him of her childhood pranks.

“Need I remind you twas not I who felt a need to go afishing in naught but my tunic? Twas not I who entertained the lusty Lord Halwart in the stable, or indeed, who burst into
your
room in the wee hours of the morning." He wished suddenly that he hadn't reminded her of that, for now he could think of nothing but how she had felt in his arms, how her hair, bright as flame, had twisted about their bodies.

"I was..." She scowled, as if trying to remember. "I was following a marauder."

Reality surfaced slowly. He was not here to seduce or be seduced. It must be the Frenchman in him that made him so easily distracted. Or maybe it was just
her...
the perfection of her face, the brightness of her. He stopped his wayward thoughts. "As was I now," he said.

"What?"

He backed away a pace, carefully putting more space between them. The moon, full and round and fat, cast silvery light through the window. Mayhap twas the moonlight that bewitched him.

"There was someone trying to climb the tower to your window," he said, trying to clear his thoughts.

Her soft lips parted in surprise, but in a moment, she pressed them closed and lowered her brows. "How do ye know?"

Now there was a likely question. Damn him. He had better get his head on straight before he lost it completely.

"What were ye doing awake?" she asked.

He grinned, careful to make the expression crooked and devilish. "Did you not know? I am a bold and clever spy."

"Are ye, now?"

"Aye," he said. "Tis my job to sneak about in the darkness."

"And for whom do ye spy?"

"Italy?" he said, making it sound like a question.

"And let me guess, the queen called you...incomparable?' '

"Actually, she was but a princess." He smiled. "And she called me, marvelous."

"Dugald the Marvelous. It has a ring to it."

"I thought so."

"And what did ye do so marvelously?"

He was drawn toward her, against his will, his better judgment and his fading good sense. "Do you truly wish to know, lass?"

They were inches apart suddenly. Her lips begged for a kiss, her skin for a touch, and he was powerless to refuse. He leaned forward. Her breath was warm against his face.

"Nay!" She jerked abruptly back, and he noticed rather suddenly that her fist was still wrapped about the hilt of her knife. “Tell me what ye were really doing at my door."

He settled back, calming his heart, steadying his nerves. She was not for him. "I could elaborate on the spy story."

"And my father could be even less amused than I," she said.

Good point. Roderic had been unimpressed by his story telling abilities. "Mayhap I was with your cousin," he said.

"Rachel?" She actually went pale when she said the name, and Dugald could not help but feel a spark of satisfaction at that. But neither would he slander
that
lady's name, for there was something about her that spoke of a soul far purer than his own.

"I believe her name was Mavis," Dugald corrected.

Shona's mouth fell open then snapped shut. Her brows scrunched together and lowered. "She has long been intrigued by the talents of foreign men."

"Has she, now?" Dugald asked, loving the flash of jealousy he saw in her eyes.

"I hope ye did not disappoint her," she said, turning away.

"Do you?"

"Of course," she snapped, pivoting back. "I could not care less if ye seduced every woman in…" She paused, breathing hard, her brow furrowed.

"I did not say I
was
with her."

Her jaw dropped. "What?"

"I did not say I
was
with her. I said I
might
have been."

Absolute silence filled the room. He could see the struggle she waged in an effort to keep the words to herself, but finally she spoke.

"Were ye?"

Jealousy was a glorious thing.

"Was I what?"

She gritted her teeth and closed her emerald bright eyes for a moment, but she finally spoke.

“Were ye with Mavis?"

"Nay."

He hoped to God he did not imagine the relief on her face.

"Then why were ye in the bailey during the wee hours?"

"I could not sleep," he said. Sometimes the simplest lies were the best. "I had but gone for a stroll when I saw a figure on the wall."

"And ye think he was trying to reach my window?"

"He was directly below it."

"There would be no point in climbing the wall," she said. "Even if he could reach the window I would awaken before he could get inside. I have very good hearing."

"Mayhap you were already awake and expecting him."

Her eyes looked as round as an owl's in the darkness. Moonlight gleamed off her wild hair, setting it aglow like uncut jewels.

"Let me tell ye one thing, Dugald the Droll," she said. "If I were to invite a man into my chambers, he would surely be one who
could
scale the wall."

"Any possibilities thus far?"

"I am holding a wall scaling contest for the most likely swains on the morrow," she said.

"Truly?"

"Aye. I have high hopes."

"Am I invited to participate?"

“I wouldna bother if I were ye. I noticed ye took the stairs."

"But had I known the criteria of winning your affection..." He shrugged.

She scowled at him. "The participants will only be those who do not taunt me at every turn."

"Ahh. And whom do you favor thus far?"

She was silent for a moment.

"Stymied, are you?"

"William." She said the name quickly.

"William?" He winced. "A bit old, don't you think? And he has a big nose."

"Did ye know he is the king's cousin?"

"His cousin! Truly. Then his nose is not big, but regal. And surely he will be able to climb a wall." He took a step toward her. "And as for his expertise in bed—"

"And Stanford is the laird of a large castle near Edinburgh," she said, cutting him off quickly as she backed away.

"Stanford is going bald. And have you noticed? He walks like a duck?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

"Were I you, I would not even mention Hadwin. He's rather amusing, but I fear his sense of humor may cause his death before he is able to father a—''

"Shhh!" she hissed.

"I fear tis true," he said.

"Shut up!" she ordered, staring at the door.

"What is it?" Dugald jerked toward the portal, his hand ready on his jeweled knife.

She stared at the door, her eyes wide and her body paralyzed. He was just about to ask again, but suddenly she grabbed his arm and shoved him toward the back wall. "Hide!"

"What?"

"It's my father!" she hissed.

Shona propelled Dugald toward the window, her mind spinning. She could push him out. But no! Surely her father would hear his screams as he fell.

She spun wildly about, searching for a place to hide him. Behind the door—too risky. In her trunk—too full. In her bed!

Dear God, she must be insane, she thought, but there was no time to delay. With a shove she knocked him onto the mattress and leaped in beside him. Throwing her leg over his waist, she spread herself across the bed and yanked the blankets over them.

Beneath her Dugald lay perfectly still. She couldn't see his face, for the woolen covered it, but she could feel his breath on her arm.

Dear God, help me, she prayed, and closing her eyes, forced herself to breathe normally.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, drawing nearer and nearer until they finally paused. Her door squeaked open. Faded candlelight fell across her floor.

Shona twisted about, then propped herself on one hand, squinting against the light. "Da?" Her voice was raspy and uncertain, as if she'd just awakened. As if she hadn't just tossed a man in her bed and was even now draped over him like a blanket over a stallion's back.

"Aye." Roderic's tone was soft. "Tis I."

"Did ye...did ye want something?" Like a swain beheaded and eviscerated perhaps?

"Nay. Nay, lass, I was just...making certain ye were safe." His tone was ultimately gentle tonight, reminding her of all the times he'd told her marvelous, outlandish stories to help her sleep.

Guilt swelled inside her, but truly, she had no wish to torment her father. In truth, she loved him and did not want to cause him any heartache, but things always seemed to happen to her. She didn't know why.

"Aye, Da, I am well."

She heard him sigh. "Go back to sleep, then."

He turned away. The door closed a few inches. She waited. He turned back.

"Shona?"

"Aye?"

"If I had to choose between a sweet daughter and ye...I would still have chosen ye."

The portal closed. The night went black. His footsteps, light and steady, strode away.

Silence reigned.

Below her, Dugald pulled the blanket from his head.

"He does not think I am sweet," she said, stunned by this revelation.

"Truly?"

Their faces were inches apart, and her breasts, she noticed, were pressed firmly against his chest with Dragonheart crushed between them.

"Truly. Me!"

"I am shocked."

She turned her head to glare at him. "Think on this, Dugald the Discourteous, which kind of maid would save a man she does not even like from her father's anger? A sweet maid or a sour maid?"

"A sweet maid?" he guessed.

"Aye," she said, and prepared to swing away from him, but suddenly she was caught in his eyes and found she could not move.

Time ceased. Reality faltered. There were only the two of them, trapped in this strange situation, and she could not resist, could not hold back.

Against every rule she had ever been taught, she leaned forward. Her eyes fell closed. Her lips met his. Lightning forked through her. His arm circled her waist, crushing her to him, and suddenly she was straddling him and yanking his tunic upward. Their lips parted long enough for her to rip his shirt from his body, then they were kissing again, with her hands drinking him in. His chest was hard.

His hands were like heaven, caressing and loving, drawing her against him.

Raw need ripped through them, forcing their hands, erasing their morals, their good sense.

She could not feel enough, could not be felt enough. Muscles bunched and strained. Passions ignited and soared.

From the next room, a boy coughed once.

Shona jerked to a halt.

Reality returned with a jolt. She gasped a small mew of dismay and launched herself from the bed to stare at Dugald, but he was already on his feet on the opposite side of the pallet.

They stared at each other like startled cats.

Shona moved her lips. No words came. She tried again.

"I didna mean to. I dunna know what's wrong with me. I'm usually..."

"Sweet?" he guessed.

She scowled. "Ye think I am a brazen hussy," she said.

"I did not say that."

"Ye think I tricked ye into my bed."

"I—"

"Ye think I have no morals atall."

"I think if you do not lower your voice I will not live through the night," he said.

She glanced at the door and scowled, letting her emotions cool and her tone drop. "Was there really someone trying to climb the tower?"

He stared at her for a moment then nodded.

"Was it ye?" she asked.

Even in the darkness she could see that he smiled. "Rest assured of one thing, Damsel Shona,"