Teresa Medeiros (19 page)

Tabitha’s outrage obscured her common sense.
“That’s an unfair accusation, isn’t it, coming from a man with no discernible weaknesses?”

He put his hands on her then and they both knew it was a mistake. She should have swayed away from the possessive grip of his hands on her shoulders, but instead she swayed nearer, mesmerized by the glint in his eyes as a cobra is mesmerized by the undulating rhythm of its master’s dance.

“Why I ought to—” he bit off through his clenched teeth.

“What?” she demanded, tingling with the awareness that she was taunting him at her own risk. “Have me dragged before your precious council? Chop off the rest of my hair? Kiss me?” Her lips parted, inviting him … no, begging him, to do just that.

She knew the instant their lips met that she had ignited a sweet and perilous magic. Only this time it wasn’t Colin at risk of turning into a frog, but she who was being transformed from cool-headed girl to hot-blooded woman.

If he had given her a barbarian’s crude caress, it might have quenched her impossible longing for him. Instead, he took her mouth with a tender sweep of his tongue that only whet her desire. His lips slanted across hers again and again—tasting, teasing, nipping, claiming—until she was limp with need. She clung to his muscled forearms, savoring the thrill of his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth. He groaned his approval as her own tongue responded to the suggestive rhythm, shyly at first, then with helpless abandon.

It was every good-night kiss Tabitha had never gotten, every backseat prom night pass she’d never intercepted, every erotic dream she’d never confessed. Colin had accused her of being a thief, but he was the one stealing her breath, her will, her very heart. If this delicious
communion was his idea of punishment, then she wanted to die in his arms, unrepentant, a victim of all the wicked sins she’d never had the courage to indulge in.

A soft, broken sound escaped her as he dragged his mouth from hers and pressed it to the pulse throbbing in her throat. He murmured her name, inhaling the fragrance of her hair as if it were scented with the most precious of perfumes.

Even as she tipped her head to the side, urging him to taste the sensitive skin behind her ear, Tabitha was compelled to try to break the spell his kiss had cast. She barely recognized her breathy voice. “There’s a perfectly s-s-sound scientific explanation for the physical attraction between us. It’s simply a result of”—she whimpered with pleasure as he caught her earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged—“r-r-rioting pheromones. Pheromones are chemical substances that can serve as sexual stimuli between two otherwise wildly”—the word deepened to a moan as he probed the virgin shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue—“incompatible individuals.”

“Tabitha?” he whispered hoarsely in her ear.

“Yes, Colin.”

“Hush.”

Just in case she had any intention of disobeying him, he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her breasts to his chest, and seized her mouth with his own, his kiss even darker and more demanding than before. He kissed her as if he would die from want of her and Tabitha found his need irresistible. No one had ever really needed her before. Even her parents had always had each other.

She might have melted down the wall into a puddle of
pure delight had his knee not been there to brace her. She gasped at the sweet friction of his muscular thigh riding between her legs. She was only too aware that the coarse fabric of Magwyn’s gown was all that separated him from flesh throbbing in anticipation of his touch.

If he hadn’t stiffened in her arms, she might have thought the sharp cry was her own.

An infant’s wail came echoing down the enclosed staircase with eerie clarity. They peered upward into the shadows, struggling to steady their ragged breathing, Colin wide-eyed with shock. She clutched his arms.

He touched a finger to her tingling lips, then gestured for her to follow him up the winding stairs.

“No,” she whispered.

“I’ll not leave you here alone, lass.”

“And I’m not going anywhere until you apologize.”

“For kissing you?” he hissed, putting his face close to hers as if he just might do it again.

“For accusing me of breaking into your castle to rob you.” Tabitha knew she was being childish, but for some reason it was very important to her that Colin clear her name.

It took him a tense moment to accept that his thunderous scowl alone wasn’t going to budge her. “Very well,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I humbly beg your pardon, my lady.”

As he wheeled around and started up the stairs, Tabitha hurried after him, more afraid of being left behind than forging ahead. “I’m not
your
lady.”

“Yet,” he said evenly, infuriating her anew with his boundless arrogance.

“Ever,” she muttered at his back, but even to her, the denial sounded hollow and unconvincing.

• • •

As they crept up the stairs, Tabitha clutched the back of Colin’s tunic the way a toddler would clutch a security blanket. He might very well need both of his arms to defend them against the unseen horror that awaited them in the chapel tower. Although he wore no dagger or sword, she had already learned that a man like Colin was never truly unarmed.

Just as they reached the iron-banded door at the top of the stairs, the crying ceased. The ominous silence echoed like a dirge. Tabitha shuddered.

Colin reached around and squeezed her trembling hands. “Don’t be afraid, lass. ’Tis probably naught but the wind whistling through a crack in the stone.”

She offered him a tremulous smile, trying not to cower. Easing her even more firmly behind him, he splayed his hand against the door and thrust it open in one decisive motion.

An array of bewildering impressions bombarded Tabitha’s fear-numbed senses: a gold crucifix hanging askew on a plastered wall; the muffled coo of a dove; slender candles flickering on a carved altar. Disengaging himself from her grip, Colin drifted forward, drawn inexorably toward that row of flickering beacons in a place where he had expected to find only darkness.

A tranquil hush hung over the chapel. Which only made the shock more keen when something large and squat came charging at Colin out of a shadowy corner, bawling like an enraged heifer.

Caught off guard by the flying tackle, he went sailing backward, striking his head against the wall with a resounding thud. Plaster dust clouded the air. Choking back a scream, Tabitha raced toward the altar. She snatched up a candlestick, determined to bash Colin’s assailant over the head with it.

A woman’s plaintive wail of dismay froze her fingers around the polished brass.

“Colin! Master Colin, is that you?”

Tabitha slowly turned to find Colin being cradled across the lap of a woman large enough to be a defensive end for the New York Giants. The candlestick slid from her hand to clatter on the plank floor.

“Och, Colin, me puir wee laddie!” the woman crooned. “I’ve gone and killed you, I have!” Flesh jiggled on her arms as she pressed Colin’s face to the spongy mountains of her breasts, rocking him as if he were an infant.

As he struggled his way free to keep from smothering, Tabitha fought a hysterical desire to giggle.

“Auld Nana?” he whispered, blinking up at the woman through dazed eyes. “Is that you, Nana? I thought you were dead.”

“And I, you, m’ sweet lad,” she murmured, stroking his dark curls. “ ’Twould seem we were both wrong.”

Colin shook his head as if to clear it, then scrambled to his feet. He jerked his tunic straight, his stormy glower warning Tabitha not to laugh. But she was too busy scanning the shadows for the source of that peculiar cooing. Perhaps a dove had flown in through the shattered stained-glass window over the nave.

As Colin helped Nana to her feet, groaning beneath his breath with effort, Tabitha murmured, “Colin?”

“Aye?”

“If Nana’s no ghost”—she pointed toward the basket in the corner, her finger trembling—“then neither is she.”

Colin gazed at Tabitha for a long moment as if afraid to look at the basket, hope chasing doubt across his face. Nana clasped her beefy hands and stood silently as he took one step toward the corner, then another, his
confident gait robbed of its swagger. As he lowered his powerful body to kneel beside the makeshift cradle, an inexpressible tenderness softened his rugged features.

He reached into the basket and lifted the baby girl nestled within as if she were fashioned of spun glass, a treasure beyond price. Dark curls, nearly identical to his own, furred her tiny pink head. She cooed down at him in delight, then burped as if she’d just downed an entire pint of Molson’s.

It was in that moment when Colin turned to her with tears of wonder and thanksgiving misting his eyes that Tabitha knew she was lost.

More lost than she’d been when she tumbled into this alien century. More lost than when his lips had tenderly grazed hers for the very first time.

She wanted him to look at her that way as she marched down a flower-strewn aisle to stand at his side. She wanted him to hold
her
children with the fierce strength in his warrior’s hands gentled by love.

She managed to smile at him through her own unshed tears, thrown off balance by the most damning truth of all. She wanted him.

Sir Colin of Ravenshaw, the seventh laird of Castle Raven, marched down the moonlit hill, a conquering hero at last.

Tabitha trailed shyly at his heels with a beaming Nana lumbering behind. The child in his arms had set up a lusty wail, but he simply pressed a kiss to the tip of her adorable little nose, making no attempt to quiet her. The baby puckered her pliant features into a miniature of her brother’s habitual scowl. The poor thing probably had gas, Tabitha thought. God only knew what Nana had been feeding her.

As her churlish bellow rolled through their camp, Colin’s people came spilling out of their tents and bedrolls, obviously fearing they had been set upon by an entire horde of murderous apparitions. They swarmed around their laird, seeking comfort in his unexpected presence.

Arjon and the blonde emerged from the same rumpled bedroll while Granny Cora limped out with her unlit pipe still clenched between her yellowed teeth. Jenny clung to her mama’s shift, her freshly cropped curls tousled by sleep.

“Dear God in heaven! What terrible noise is that?” Magwyn cried, clapping her hands over her ears.

Colin grinned down at his squalling charge. “Is that any way to address your lady? I find her tones to be rather dulcet. I suspect she’ll be a fine singer someday.” Almost as if responding to her besotted brother’s praise, the baby waved her fat little arms and lapsed into a happy chortle.

Tabitha had never been one to “ooh” and “ah” over drooling infants, but even to her skeptical eye, there was something alluring about the child’s rebellious curls and petulant rosebud of a mouth.

Iselda pointed a trembling finger at Colin’s burden before swooning in Magwyn’s arms. Magwyn staggered beneath her bulk.

“ ’Tis the ghost!” called out Chauncey, tripping over his overgrown feet. “The ghost from the tower!”

Nana boxed his ears and shoved her way through the mob like a running back plowing through the defensive line. A symphony of grunts and groans marked her progress as she smashed toes and elbowed spleens.

“She’s no ghost, you buffoon, and neither am I.”

“Auld Nana!” breathed Magwyn. “You’re alive.”

“No thanks to the likes of you,” Nana retorted. “I
suppose it never occurred to any of you to trot your lazy arses up the stairs and tell puir Auld Nana the siege was done.”

“Now, Nana,” Colin said, “if they had, you would have ambushed them just as you did me.” He addressed the gaping crowd. “You should have seen her. She came charging out of the darkness, howling like a blood-maddened Valkyrie, determined to defend her precious lady to the death. She was magnificent!”

Her pride mollified, Nana tucked her chins and gave his cheek a sound pinch. “Go on with you, sugar-tongued lad.”

Tabitha took a step backward, hoping to melt into the crowd and seek the shelter of Colin’s pavilion. Her feelings for him were still too new and tender to withstand public scrutiny.

Arjon yawned and ruffled his hair into feathery tufts. “Just how did you come to be prowling around the castle in the dead of night? We’ve been abed for hours.” His companion giggled, her swollen lips suggesting they’d been indulging in more pleasurable pursuits than sleep. Tabitha touched a finger to her own lips, wondering if they looked as thoroughly kissed as they felt.

Depositing the baby in Nana’s arms, Colin replied, “It seems there was only one among us bold enough to beard the dreaded Ravenshaw ghost in its lair.” Before Tabitha could duck out of his reach, he drew her into the heart of their circle and turned her to face the villagers. “ ’Twas Tabitha who dared to mock superstition and enter the castle. Tabitha who braved all manner of fearsome trials”—this with an audible smirk in his voice—“to free your lady and Auld Nana from their tower prison.”

“It was nothing,” she mumbled.

Colin continued as if she hadn’t spoken, fumbling
with the hem of his tunic. “In honor of her bravery, I would like to present her with a token of my own heartfelt gratitude.”

Tabitha’s breath caught on a wheeze, but it was too late to stop him. He was already lowering the amulet over her head. Even in the hazy moonlight, the emerald shimmered against her breast like the eye of a dragon.

She gazed down at the stone with a mixture of awe and dread. She’d never dreamed Colin’s trust would be such a terrible burden. It both bound her to him and gave her the means to abandon him forever. The decision was hers.

Logically, she knew it would be safe to turn in his arms, safe to kiss him without risking some manner of magical calamity. Yet somehow it was more dangerous than ever before. So she stood stiffly—without turning, without touching, without acknowledging the gift of his trust.

“To Tabitha!” shouted Chauncey.

“Aye! To the Lady Tabitha!”

They all took up the joyous cry, startling the baby into a fresh wail. Her voice was nearly drowned out by Colin’s rich laughter as he wrapped his arms around Tabitha from behind and hugged her to his heart. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had traveled over seven hundred years from home only to find the place where she had always belonged.