Chapter 9
Must me torments never cease? Creighton thought distantly. The answer, apparently, was a resounding no.
Nora eyed him warily, her thin nightgown whipping around her. Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around her waist, pinning her robe in place. He could almost taste her kiss still lingering on his lips. The kiss he should never have taken, never.
Put it behind ye, he reminded himself angrily. One mistake does nae mean that ye have to repeat it.
Nora looked at him hesitantly, probably unsure whether to talk to him or to run away. Either way, he was too tired to intervene. She could do as she liked.
“I couldnae sleep,” she said at last, her voice tentative. “I just wanted some fresh air.”
He pursed his lips, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.
“And ye thought to break me rule and come out here, aye? Alone? Leavin’ yer room when I was very clear that ye should stick to it if ye daenae have an escort?”
Color rushed over her face. She took a step forward, stabbing a finger accusingly toward him.
“It is the middle of the night, me room was too hot, and I simply couldnae…” She paused, wavering, and narrowed her eyes. “Wait a moment. Ye are teasin’ me.”
Creighton lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps I am. What of it? Do ye nae like to be teased?”
Some of her anger dissipated. Not all of it, but some of it.
She sniffed, rearranging her robe, tugging it across her breasts.
He wished he hadn’t noticed that. The nightgown was thin, almost translucent.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but could he see the pink peaks of her nipples beneath the fabric?
Enough, man.
He couldn’t see them anymore, at least. Not with her arms folded and the robe patted safely in place.
“Nobody likes being teased,” she said at last. “I had enough of that back at Bryden Keep.”
He tilted his head, swallowing hard and marshalling his thoughts. Anything to calm the fiery wanting in his gut. “I thought ye were a foremost healer?”
“I was,” she admitted. “The chief healer. I earned that position, but it didnae earn me any friends. I had some people I could talk to, but never friends. I suppose I am a loner. Or so me sister always said. She is more gregarious, I think. She made friends wherever she went. Everybody loved Margie.”
“Loved?” he echoed, tilting his head.
Nora did not respond to his unspoken question, and he chose not to press her. Was her sister dead? She must be, for Nora to speak of her so firmly in the past tense.
After a moment of silence, Nora cleared her throat, glancing away. The moonlight played across her cheekbones, illuminating the delicate bones of her face in silver.
“I should go back inside,” she said at last. “Me room might have cooled down by now. It’s hot tonight.”
“Unseasonably warm,” he agreed. “Look, I’ll nae force ye back to yer too-warm room. Sit out here with me, if ye like.”
He turned his back without waiting for her response and returned to his spot at the end of the balcony, elbows resting on the wall, staring blankly.
A minute passed, then two, and he almost wondered if he would turn around and see that she was gone when she appeared beside him.
A ghost emerging from the gloom. Her robe was now securely tied around her, pinning her nightgown in place and giving her figure a much-needed opacity.
So much the better. He was only a man, after all. Men could be tempted. A gentle gust of wind ruffled her hair, and he caught a passing scent of mint. Herbs, again. His bed smelled of herbs still, or perhaps that was his imagination?
She rested her elbows on the wall beside him, a good hand-span of space between his shoulder and hers. She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t leave, either.
“So,” she said at last, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Why are ye wandering around here, in the remotest part of yer own Keep?”
“I always come out here when I cannae sleep,” he said at last.
“Really? Why this spot?”
He shrugged. “It’s peaceful.”
“It certainly is quiet. There are no guards here. Why not?”
Creighton paused, pursing his lips. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. She’d almost given up home when he finally spoke.
“I daenae care to have the guards kennin’ when I cannae sleep.
People gossip, ye ken. There’ll be talk if I’m wanderin’ the halls listlessly at two in the morning, right before a battle or a serious council meetin’.
Part of being a laird is to show a fearless face to the world.
People look to me and expect me to be a sturdy tree trunk in the midst of a flood, but that’ll nae comfort them if I’m shiverin’ with fear meself. ”
“Surely nobody would think ye were afraid, only because ye could nae sleep before a serious decision.”
“Ye would think nae, but that’s how it is,” he sighed. “Still, it’s quiet here. The clans might change alliances and betray their friends. With time, even this keep will be ground down to nothin’. The moon and stars, however, will always be here. Just the way they are.”
“I suppose that is reassurin’,” she conceded, tilting up her chin. “Whenever I look at the stars, I always think of teachin’ me sister to find constellations. I thought it would help her navigate, ye ken? But she has nay patience for that, for anythin’. She said all the stars look the same.”
He chuckled. “There’s some truth in that. Is she a healer too, then, yer sister?”
“Nay, nae Margie. She could be, if she wanted. She’s got a sharper mind than I. She loves to learn, loves to go to new places, and see new things.”
He glanced down at her and found that she was staring off toward the horizon, her eyes glazed over and fixed on something distant that only she could see.
“This sister of yers,” he said at last. “She’s younger than ye, is she nae?”
She looked up at him, surprise briefly passing through her face. “Aye, she is. How could ye tell?”
He chuckled. “I just can.”
There were a few more moments of silence, more comfortable than before. He didn’t bother pushing the conversation along. In the dead of night, they were unlikely to be interrupted. They could talk as long as they wanted.
We have already talked for longer than is wise, warned a small voice at the back of his head. Creighton ignored it.
“Ye were right about me, ye ken,” she said abruptly. He shifted to face her, the cold wall digging into his side in a hard line, just above his hip.
“Oh?” he murmured. “That is a surprise.”
She twisted her fingers together. “A surprise? I thought ye had a very high opinion of yer own, well, opinion.”
“I do,” he acknowledged. “But I was startin’ to think that every assumption I made about ye was thoroughly wrong. Everythin’ I assumed before we entered this betrothal has been proved more or less wrong.”
A faint line appeared between her brows. Her hand fluttered up to her face, fingertips sliding along her lower lip, then up over the curve of her topmost lip. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing—tracing her scar.
“I imagine ye expected yer bride-to-be to be scar-less,” she remarked, with a lightness that did not quite ring true.
Creighton pursed his lips. “Did I? Maybe. But I immediately had the urge to kiss ye there, so it was nae so very bad for me.”
She glanced up at him, eyes wide with shock. It was almost comical, almost sweet. How could she be surprised at his surprise?
Immediately, she pulled her gaze away, as if afraid she would be caught staring.
She cleared her throat and fidgeted with her fingers again.
He sensed she was gathering the courage to say something, maybe to ask a question.
Possibly. If the question was about how badly he wanted to kiss her when she first removed that mask, then it was better to steer the conversation away before it gained any momentum.
“Yer sister, then,” he managed. “Tell me about her.”
“I… I daenae ken if I want to.”
“That’s certainly nae the response I usually get when I ask people about their families,” he conceded. “Ye are under nay obligation to do anythin’, lass.”
Her face crumpled. He just had time to glimpse misery in her eyes before she turned away, pretending to look at something in the distance.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, after a moment or two had gone by. “I have a little sister meself. I can imagine how it would feel if I lost her. How I would feel. It… It would hurt more than anythin’ else in the world.”
The silence stretched on for a few more seconds. He would not have been surprised if she’d turned and run away, or burst into tears, or perhaps both. He was just beginning to assume that the conversation was well and truly over when she let out a ragged exhale and turned to face him.
“I suppose ye do deserve to ken what’s going on here,” she said at last, her voice harsh and a little rasping. “After all, ye are the most irritatin’ man I have ever met…”
“I’m sure that cannae be true. Have ye ever met other men? Insufferable pricks, the lot of them.”
“Ye deserve to know the truth,” she plowed on, obviously trying to ignore his comment. “So, I’ll tell ye. There’ll be nay secrets between us. At least, one less secret.”
“Much more manageable,” he agreed.
Turning to face him, she looked up for a long moment, her eyes dark in the moonlight.
Long, green-tinged fingers played a complex rhythm on top of the wall, with the gentle thunks of fingers hitting stone sounding louder in the quiet.
He forced himself to wait, almost holding his breath, until she was ready to speak.
“I came here for a reason,” she said at last, lifting her chin. “And it had nothin’ to do with me love for me clan, and nothin’ to do with Laird Bryden. Ye can get that idea out of yer head right now.”
“I already had,” he confessed. “I never saw anythin’ between the two of ye. Besides, I would expect that man to at least pretend to be betrothed to me cousin.”