Knight In My Bed (30 page)

The MacKinnons had not killed his lady wife.

"
This eve
, " Isolde emphasized to Niels and Rory. "If he is not there by the hour of compline, I shall fetch him myself."

At her feet, Bodo stared up at the two guardsmen with an unblinking gaze as if admonishing them to heed her wishes. Rory glared at the dog, then jerked his head toward the iron-banded door behind them.

With its heavy drawbar in place, the door's solid strength kept all those behind it where they belonged: locked away within
whate
' er dark corner of Dunmuir's dungeons they' d been cast into.

"
We told you
," Rory began, "Lorne has joined us during the late watches every night since he had the bastard pulled from the sea dungeon."

He cast a wary glance at Bodo. "How're we supposed to hie the churl out of the MacFie's cell, past Lorne, and up to your bedchamber, without alerting all and sundry to your tawdry doings?"

Isolde lifted a brow in perfect imitation of his favored gesture of pique. "Tawdry?" She folded her arms. "Some would say my goals are bold and daring, their execution costly to none but me."

She declined to say she no longer viewed gaining Donall the Bold's favor as an ugsome task.

Rory pressed his lips together.

Niels scratched the side of his neck. "I don't know how we'll get him past Lorne."

Isolde began tapping her foot. "Try. "

"A mite eager, aren't you?" Niels commented.

"The devil's done cast a witchy spell o'er her," Rory said. "O'er Lorne, too."

"Aye," Niels agreed, "the whole of Dunmuir's gone crazed of late."

Isolde glanced over her shoulder at the stairs to the great hall. Rustling noises, the clatter of cutlery, and the low hum of voices drifted down the curving stair tower, an indication preparations for the evening repast were well underway.

Bodo glanced at the stairs, too, no doubt looking forward to whate'er tidbits could soon be had.

Isolde turned back to the guardsmen. "Can you not suggest Lorne guard the dungeon entrance in the hall? The one that opens into the broch's wall passage?"

Niels and Rory exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"What is it?" Isolde looked from one to the other.

Rory averted his gaze and began mumbling under his breath.

Her cousin drew a big hand through his unruly red hair. “ ’Tis not guarding the MacLean and his friend, Lorne is, but a watching o'er us," he said, a pink stain tingeing his broad face.

"Watching
you
?”

“We told you the world's gone mush-brained," Rory
 
said. "Lorne is worried Struan and the others will have us hie the MacLean back to the sea dungeon when he isn't looking."

"And would you?" Isolde flipped a braid over her shoulder.

"Saints, but we'd like to," Niels admitted.

Isolde assumed her da's laird's look. "But you won't, will you?"

"Nay," Niels conceded in a disgruntled tone.

Rory spat on the floor, blessedly not anywhere near Bodo. "Nay, we will not," he agreed. "Much as the arrogant knave needs the pride washed out of him."

Satisfied, Isolde released the breath she'd been holding. "There is not much time. Not this night, not ... at all. I can waste no more. You have not brought him to my chamber in a full sennight. I want him there this eve.”

With that, she hitched up her skirts and walked away, her little dog bounding ahead of her. She hadn't taken three of the winding stone steps before Rory called after her." We can't promise. Lorne–“

Without halting her upward climb, Isolde called over her shoulder, "Find a way. I want to see him."

I want to be kissed like a knight kisses.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

She'd Misplaced The blush of rose.

Isolde made another circuitous sweep of her bedchamber, peering into every crevice and niche as she went. She looked into the aumbrey set deep into the thick walling, looked
everywhere,
but the little pot of vermilion nipple paint was nowhere to be found.

She even wrested the bed dressings off her great four-poster and aired each layer: linens, coverlets, furs, and all.

A peek under the bed proved equally fruitless.

The blush of rose was gone.

She'd need another method to draw Donall the Bold's attention to her breasts.

To her nipples.

To her ...
everything.

A languorous heat spread through her at the thought. An exquisite sensation that curled low in her belly, its pleasurable warmth teasing her with a slow, insistent pulsing at the very core of he femininity.

And whatever it was, she wanted more ... and soon.

Wild and wanton images ran rampant through her mind, each one more tantalizing than the last.

And she couldn't find the wretched pot of nipple cream!

"By the moon and stars," she grumbled, snatching one of Devorgilla's pet epithets. She blew out a frustrated breath and would have continued her frenzied search, did she not catch the muffled trundle of approaching feet.

They were bringing him at last.

Quickly, before they could reach her door, she dashed to the row of windows and struck a casual, unconcerned pose. Bodo dashed to the door, tongue lolling and tail wagging, looking as eager as she ... only she had no intention of displaying her feelings so openly.

But when the door swung open, her resolve sailed through the opened windows, flying away on wings of stunned surprise so great, she vowed its impact could carry her to the stars.

Donall MacLean wore his own raiment
.

And looked so outrageously handsome in them the sight weakened her knees, lit a fire in her blood, and melted every bit of steel he claimed she possessed.

A light brown tunic hugged his smooth-muscled shoulders while a finely tooled leather belt slung low around his hips drew her attention to the well-defined bulge of his masculinity.

A most impressive display, braw and bold.

Daunting.

Her pulse racing, she lowered her gaze to his well-formed legs. He'd donned snug hose of a lighter brown than his tunic. The fine chainsil linen clung to his calves and thighs, the soft fabric caressing each muscular contour.

Only his feet were bare, a concession to the iron manacle around his ankle. Though Rory and Niels had surely removed it long enough for him to dress.

Heat sprang onto her cheeks at the thought of him standing naked, easing his legs into the fine linen hose. The image of him rolling the hose down his legs, stepping out rather than into them, turned the blush on her cheeks into a flaming burn.

A scarlet blush of epic brilliance, and one he took high note of, if his cocked brow and slow smile could be trusted as an indication. Lifting her chin, Isolde tried to pretend her cheeks weren't burning, and attempted to assume an air of dignified grace.

At least until Niels and Rory departed.

Then she intended to seduce him.

Bodo, though, had no intention of waiting for the two guardsmen to leave before he showed his affection. With a sharp bark of excitement, he launched himself at the MacLean with such force, he toppled backward. For a scant moment, he lay on his back, white belly exposed, his short legs plowing the air, before he bounded up to tear around the room, leaping playfully at Donall each time he streaked past.

The MacLean grinned, his handsome face losing all trace of lordly swagger. Even his perpetually arched brow descended to a normal level. The transformation did irreparable damage to Isolde's heart, his genuine amusement at Bodo's antics warming her soul.

The irony brought a smile to her own lips.

Bodo's display of canine affection easily won what she, with all Devorgilla's potions and Evelina's advice, had not yet managed to achieve.

The little dog had a firm hold on Donall MacLean's heart.

"I told you the whole of Dunmuir's gone mad," Rory carped, dropping to one knee to affix Donall's chain to the bedpost.

Bodo was on him in a heartbeat. "By the holy sepulcher!" Rory bellowed, leaping away before the dog could bite him. The moment Niels and Rory closed the door behind them, Isolde left her post by the windows. With a calm she didn't feel, she ordered Bodo to his bed.

“Your wee champion would defend you to the death, my lady," the MacLean said, something warm and indefinable in his voice.

Something that reached deep inside her to wrap itself around her heart, caressing her in a wondrously comforting way. Wholly different from the way his strong hands had felt upon her. Or even his masterful lips.

But no less powerful.

"Bodo meant to defend you," she said, still stunned by the dog's attachment to the MacLean.

Donall shrugged tunic-clad shoulders. "The little fellow loves you mightily," he added, one of his slow smiles beginning to spread across his bonnie face. "He could be a MacLean."

He could be a MacLean
?

Bodo loves her mightily ... he could be a MacLean
?

Isolde's heart thudded slow and hard in her chest. Was Donall the Bold implying he loved her? Impossible.

But if it were, why did she find the notion so thrilling? She certainly didn't love him. She merely found him attractive.

Somewhat attractive.

A means to expedite her goals.

Every fiber of her being laughed at the lie.

She swallowed thickly, and at last the words came, bursting forth with all the more force for having been snagged in her throat.

Snagged in her heart.

"What do you mean Bodo 'could be a MacLean'?"

"You cannot guess?"

Isolde shook her head.

"I meant the dog loves you as fiercely as a MacLean loves his lady," he said, his voice husky, his answer ... disappointing.

"Oh." She glanced downward. “I see."

"Do you?" he asked with that odd tone again, the one that did funny things to her heart.

Such funny things, she sought the safety of the far side of the chamber. Standing before the un-shuttered windows, she inhaled the briny night air, her hand going instinctively to the small linen pouch hanging from her girdle, her fingers moving idly over the small, solid object hidden within. “Gavin sees," came Donall's voice, the odd tone unsettling her more by the moment. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled.

Or, at least, she thought he had.

"Aye, he sees all," he called out, his amusement unmistakable now. "The varlet sees by the warts on his grandmother's nose, or so he claims."

Isolde started, and not because of his nonsensical pronouncement, but because the words rang so loud in her ears, he might have been standing right behind her.

She whirled around ... and gasped.

He was right behind her.

Or rather, in front of her, now that she'd turned around.

“Your minions neglected to chain me to your bed." His dark eyes twinkling, he held the loose chain with one hand.

Isolde gulped.

His smile widened. "I vow our four-legged champion frightened them off before they thought to do so," he said, casting a quick glance at the sleeping dog.

Isolde glanced at him, too, her mind racing almost as fast as her pulse. Bodo would ne'er sleep so peaceably were she in danger. Her decision made, she looked back at the MacLean.

He watched her closely, a smile of such disarming appeal on his face, she knew she ought to heed the perils it might conceal, but she chose to heed her instincts instead.

Hers and Bodo's.

Before she could change her mind, she plunged her hand into the folds of her skirts and withdrew the hard object from the hidden pouch. She offered it to him on her outstretched palm.

He stared at the iron key, his dark eyes widening in astonishment. The chain slipped from his fingers, dropping to the floor with a rush-muffled thud.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers. Soft light from a nearby cresset lamp illuminated the inscrutable expression he wore, but as she stared at him, his lips curved in a broad, flashing smile. "I knew you were a fine bold lass," he said, and accepted the key.

Isolde heart turned over upon hearing him call her "a fine bold lass" again. "Do not make me regret it," she said, watching him kneel to unlock the iron ankle cuff.

He glanced up at her as he slipped the key into the lock. "Never."

And for some inexplicable reason, she believed him.

Faith, but she wanted him to kiss her again!

Her heart melting, her senses reeling with his nearness, she moistened her lips. "The key will release the manacle around Sir Gavin's ankle as well," she said. "I will see that neither of you are chained again."

His brow lifted at that. "Ah ..." he drawled, pushing to his feet, "dare I hope you have finally accepted the truth?"