Chapter 11 #2
William was mad, a raving lunatic to be kissing her again, to have sought her out this night—and that’s what he’d done, though he’d lied to himself like a daft fool.
Fresh air. That’s what he’d wanted, though he’d wandered the grounds for nearly an hour earlier on the same pretext and found himself distinctly unrefreshed when he hadn’t discovered Rose lurking in the gardens or the courtyard.
So he’d come up here and seen her standing there, sagging wearily against the battlements, and he knew she’d tried to work something out of her heart.
He’d done it often enough himself to recognize it—the urge to forget the unforgettable.
It never worked—it only delayed—but that had never stopped him, and it didn’t stop her.
It was a temporary fix to an impossible problem.
She was an echo of his soul, calling to him, and he was mindless, unable to resist the siren song.
And then she’d said his name. William. Such a sweet sound.
He’d never heard it from a woman’s lips.
His wife had called him Strathwick or my lord or Husband.
But he was William to Rose. And so he’d kissed her, even though he’d vowed to himself he wouldn’t.
That he wouldn’t be another man who stole her trust and left her with impossible shame.
But here they were and she was warm in his arms, yielding, the skin of her neck and jaw soft beneath his hand.
He was hard already, the sweet stroke of her tongue nearly sending him over the edge of sanity.
He pressed her into the stone wall, forcing his thigh between hers and lifting her higher, his arm around her waist. Her arms were tight around his neck and she pressed closer, as if they could somehow merge into one.
With her anchored to the wall, he burrowed one hand beneath her skirts.
The skin of her thigh was soft above her hose.
Her breath hitched at his intimate touch, but she did not stop him.
Her thighs tightened around him, her hips grinding into him, destroying his control.
He pulled her into him, his hand on the supple, round flesh of her bottom.
The pressure was exquisite; he felt as if he would shatter from her merest touch.
He made a sound deep in his throat and renewed his assault on her mouth.
His blood pounded thickly in his ears so that he barely heard the throat-clearing nearby.
When it happened again, louder this time, he tore his mouth away, peering into the dark.
A man-at-arms tilted his head slightly in a mysterious gesture that William’s lust-fogged mind could not grasp.
Then the man moved away, giving them privacy.
He would tell others what he’d seen. Christ.
Rose leaned against William, her face in his plaid, her hands curled into him.
She trembled. He stroked his hand over her silky hair, closing his eyes and trying to gain mastery over his body.
This black, mindless desire was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he couldn’t seem to control it; he didn’t want to.
He was in thrall to it, to her. He couldn’t walk away.
She raised her head, gazing up at him with beautiful midnight eyes. “I want to be with you.”
Bloody hell. His body responded instantly and forcefully. He made himself look away from her swollen lips and the naked desire on her face.
“Rose,” he whispered when he could finally speak. His voice sounded rusty and harsh. He smoothed back the hair that had come loose from her plait. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” She caressed him, touching his jaw and his neck, and he shuddered violently.
He wanted to shove her skirts up and have her against the wall.
He would pull out, he thought recklessly, there would be no bairns.
He heard these fool thoughts and recognized his own folly, but he still didn’t care.
His muscles tightened as he fought to control himself.
And then in his mind he saw her with her betrothed, that pasty-faced scurr she was going to marry, and he couldn’t stand it.
When MacPherson arrived she would never look at him this way again.
She would never say his name as though she cared.
And when she learned how he knew MacPherson… she would turn away from him forever.
He kissed her again, hard, driving the image from his mind. His heart throbbed, urging him onward, perilously, thoughtlessly.
She slid her hand into his and pulled away from him.
The eyes that gazed up at him were hazy with desire.
She drew him along and he followed, telling himself he shouldn’t, but his feet did not obey.
She led him along the wall to the steps leading to the bailey.
William caught sight of something over the walls and stopped, a cold stone settling in his belly.
She tugged on his hand, and when he didn’t come, she glanced up at him.
She followed his gaze and grew very still.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” he said, emotionless, staring at the line of torches approaching. If they hadn’t been kissing, they’d have seen the riders approach. As it was, they were nearly to the loch now. That had been what the man-at-arms had been warning them about.
Rose dropped his hand as if it were a hot brand. “Oh my God,” she breathed, her hands covering her mouth.
A dark, relentless fury built in his chest. He’d been about to make an enormous mistake and was damned vexed at the interruption. He’d never have this chance again. Not now. He wanted to hit something in frustration—preferably the MacPherson lad.
But instead he smiled wryly. “Good thing I spotted them, or it might have been a wee bit awkward when they came looking for you, aye?”
Her eyes closed in horror at the thought.
She opened them and gazed at him, a slight frown between her brows.
He wondered why she didn’t leave, why she didn’t ready herself to meet her betrothed.
He was nearly un-hinged with anger and thwarted lust. He didn’t want her standing before him anymore, looking mussed and beautiful, tempting him.
“What’s wrong, Rose?” he bit out, his calm facade crumbling. “Your future awaits.”
She swallowed, her eyes bright with miserable hope. “Does it? Or is it here?”
His heart stuttered in his chest. Of course she thought that. Of course. Jesus God, he was a bloody fool. She was no tavern trull to be ravished on the battlements. Of course she expected something more from him.
He let out a slightly incredulous breath. “Rose…”
She drew back as if he’d slapped her.
He reached a placating hand toward her, but she just stared at it, brows drawn together in disbelief and horror. He could see the understanding dawning in her eyes before he said the words.
“I will not marry again. I…won’t do that again, make that choice…”
“Aye. I understand.” Her words were crisp, frozen. She still stared stiffly at his hand. “You will breathe not a word of this…considering.”
“Of course.” Considering? Considering what? What did she mean?
Before he could ask, she turned away from him, a dreamer caught in a nightmare of his creation.
He stood in the dark for a time after she left, until his labored breathing calmed and a more calculated anger at the whims of fate smothered the flush of passion.
He felt strangely hollow, detached from himself, as if he’d dreamed it all.
He heard the approach of another man-at-arms, so he left, following her down to the hall.
The castle had come alive. The smell of cooking meat and bread being heated filled the great hall. Drake leaned against a wall, watching it all grimly. William joined him.
“It’s a wee bit crowded here, aye?” Drake said. “Mayhap we should be on our way. You ken who has arrived? It will be ugly.”
“I know, but I still have work here.”
His brother knew him well enough to realize that arguing was futile, but still he sighed dramatically so that William was aware of his displeasure.
William scanned the hall. All the fireplaces blazed, and torches lit the walls.
The great wooden candelabras that hung from the ceiling by chains were lit with hundreds of candles.
Rose and her sisters were absent, as were their husbands.
A lass with her arms piled high with clean sheets and bedding hurried across the hall, disappearing into a corridor.
Two other lasses sprinkled sprigs of herbs onto the rush-strewn floor.
Two lads dragged a brass tub across the floor.
“You’d think he was royalty,” Drake murmured. He sent William a sidelong look. “You don’t plan to be standing here when he arrives, do you?”
“Aye, I do.”
Drake straightened from the wall to look at him incredulously. “You cannot be serious? Let him hear of it from someone else.”
“No.”
Drake swore and cajoled some more, but William remained adamant. Perhaps it was some penance he thought he deserved, but he had to see Rose’s face when she discovered the truth about him. He did not want her to hear it from someone else.