Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The sound of a gathering, curious crowd grew louder with each of Tearloch’s steps, and Kenna realized they were headed for yet another audience—the last thing she wanted. To avoid it, she could do one of three things: kick and scream; beg; or pretend to swoon.
She had tried humbling herself to win over bossy woman, but after a long hour of scrubbing and scalding her hands, she was thanked with a blow to the face. No. There would be no more groveling. She would literally fight her way out of Lochahearn, wear them all down until they begged her to go.
Or ran her through.
And now, she would not feign weakness just so her laird and master could prove himself laird and master over her.
So, just as they entered the hall, she began to kick her legs and beat against his buttocks, shrieking with all the breath she could eek into her lungs whilst being bounced on a rock-hard shoulder.
“Put me down, you barbarian. Let me go!”
Tearloch answered Kenna’s outrage by swinging his left arm around and whacking her bottom.
The satisfying smack echoed through the hall and she stilled immediately, as did their audience, but only for a moment.
Hoots and applause escorted Tearloch up the stairs.
No doubt the most enthusiastic calls came from the twenty men who had bled to save her only to spend two days chasing after her.
Even Jamie beat his tankard on the table while he whooped.
At the balustrade, Tearloch turned and addressed them with her derrière on display. “There will be a guard outside my chamber around the clock. Duncan, set a schedule for rotation every two hours. I want everyone alert at their posts!”
Monroe shouted, “Even when ye’re inside, Commander?”
“Especially when I’m inside.”
Renewed hoots of laughter and applause rivaled their earlier celebration.
He felt the soiled gown between two fingers. “I need hot water. Lots of it!”
Inside his chambers, the tub and cold water had been removed. The windows had been shuttered and now a healthy fire burned in the hearth and had already started to warm the room.
Tearloch felt the lass stiffen long before he lowered her to her feet.
Once balanced, she stood very still, waiting for her fate.
He had to lift her chin to see her eyes, and once again, they were filled with defiance tempered with a touch of fear.
Though he wanted to reassure her, he wondered if a little fear was needed.
A soft whistle came from outside the door, announcing the arrival of the sentries and she blushed. “Will I not have a chamber in the servant’s quarters?” She folded her arms as an absurd barrier between them.
“Nay.” He crossed the room to sit on a chest and began removing his boots.
“You are angry I left the room.”
He could tell by the way she transferred her weight back and forth that she was trying not to rub her sore bum. He was immediately contrite. She’d sworn she would never be beaten again, and she’d been struck twice that night—once by him! He would remember to apologize later.
“Nay, I was displeased until we found ye.” There was no anger left in his voice. “Then I was wroth with the woman for daring to touch ye. And, aye, ye were supposed to stay in this room. Not to keep ye captive, but to protect ye.”
“I would have stayed had I been told. I would have worn the clean things had I been told. But the women and the guards had no reason to be kind. And now, less reason. More people with love for the MacPherson clan, I assume.”
“Aye. And ye’re a stranger yet. Give it time.
” He pulled both his shirt and his tunic over his head together, then laid them across the larger chest. He didn’t like her silence, until he saw that she was distracted by his bare skin and his short breeks.
He had never been fond of wearing hose. They made him overly hot.
“Yer leine,” she stammered, pointing to the chest. “Why?”
“Because I do not wish to get it wet.”
“You have already bathed. Obviously.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot mean to have another?”
“Indeed. But alas, I dinnae ken what to expect when…”
“When what?”
“When I bathe a hellcat.”
“What?” A strangled squawk. “I have bathed as well.”
“Aye, but then ye donned those wretched rags again.”
She began backing toward the door, which opened quietly behind her. “Oh, nay. I will not bathe with another in the room. Besides, the tub is gone.”
He made a face. “Well, ye see, ye tend to disappear when left on yer own, thus…” He gestured to a line of servants lugging heavy buckets of water and a large copper tub into the room. They averted their eyes while the thing was placed before the fire and filled.
Once they were gone, he began stalking her around the room.
She spoke as fast as she walked, explaining how she couldn’t possibly escape if he were guarding her from the hallway.
She confessed that she’d already studied the windows, the outer wall, the guard below.
She promised she would never risk the fall.
Besides, she was too weary to attempt another escape.
She would be grateful if he would give her a place to sleep and time to recover from their journey before anything was required of her. Didn’t he agree?
“Auch, aye. Reasonable, all. But I’ll not be leavin’ the room.
” He changed direction, and because she was distracted while searching for more excuses, she strolled right into his arms. He released her promptly, gripped the shoulders of the once-white gown, and rent the entire thing into two pieces. The sound of it rending was quite loud.
Kenna gasped, as did someone in the hallway.
He wadded the cloth and strode directly to the door where he cast it out.
“Have this destroyed,” he told someone, then closed the door again.
“Burning wool is quite unpleasant.” He nodded at the blue shift still covering her.
It had been equally defiled in the past two days, its sentiment all but forgotten. “Is that still a cherished gift?”
“Alas, it is not,” she admitted. “But until you leave me in peace, it remains where it is.”
“Linen, is it?” He moved closer, step after step.
She retreated at the same pace. “It is.”
“Not everything is unpleasant when it burns.” His eyes smiled, then he nodded to the fire. “Will ye pitch it in, or shall I?”
“Will you leave or shall I?”
They both laughed at the jest. But then he sobered suddenly, staring at her cheek. She lifted her hand to cover the spot.
“Auch, lass. Does it hurt?”
She shook her head but bit her lips to keep the truth from slipping out.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat to take a closer look at the dark pink handprint that covered half her face. “She will pay for this.”
Kenna shook her head. “I have enemies enough, Tearloch. Forgive her.”
“Very well. I will do so…if ye forgive me for this.” He ripped the shift from her shoulders just as he had the other, then quickly turned his back and marched to the fire. He’d seen very little of her form, but it was burned into his memory.
He squatted before the flames and flung the dark garment onto burning logs. “Get in the bath, lass.” He cleared his gritty throat. “I shall allow ye to wash yerself without an audience, if ye do so quickly. And I will allow ye to wear yer clean leine…in our bed.”
God’s teeth, waiting for Malcolm will be the death of me.
Kenna ignored the sting of the water and climbed in, crouching as low as she could, and she washed all but her hair again. She didn’t trust Tearloch to keep his back turned overlong, and she was also mindful of how much noise she made so as not to draw his curiosity.
Our bed?
She would challenge him on the matter there and then, but if she spoke, he might turn to reply.
His back was broad, his shoulders as wide as they’d seemed beneath his armor.
And when he shifted, his muscles moved as if he had another set of armor beneath his skin.
Between all the scars, was it as soft as it appeared?
Or unyielding? Would it be warm to the touch, or as cold as the steel from which he might have been forged?
Those shoulders turned slightly and a squeak escaped her.
He chuckled. “Have ye finished then? Ye havenae moved for quite some time. And I am eager to sleep.”
Sleep? Sleep was fine. She had hoped to sleep as well until he said they would share a bed. Perhaps it was truly all for show.
“Aye. I am finished. Will you stay put whilst—”
He straightened and walked to the table where he retrieved a length of linen which he brought to the tub, looking his fill as he came. But then he held up the cloth and turned his head. “Out with ye.”
“To the devil with you.”
He huffed impatiently. “We are too weary for modesty, Kenna. Come to me. Now.”
She did as she was told.
He kept his head turned until she was wrapped, then he helped lift her hair from her cocoon before dropping his hands to her waist and pulling her close. He sighed softly. “I will have a final kiss from ye, Kenna. Would ye give it now, or once we are in the bed?”
Her heart leapt. To avoid a repeat of what happened in the meadow, she rose on her toes and lifted her chin. “Now, sir. Kiss me now.”
He laughed as he brought a hand up behind her head and embedded his fingers in her hair, taking his time.
“The hour is late.”
“Wheesht, my wee bird. This is no time for haste.” His smile fell away. His gaze bore into hers briefly, then he pressed his mouth to hers. Again, and again.
She never noticed when he lifted her, only when he pulled away.
He set her gently on her feet with the back of her knees against the bed.
He moved the cloak and bliaut to the chest, then took up the leine and dropped it over her head.
Only when she put her arms through the sleeves did she release the drying linen.
He began to smooth the cloth over her, but she stopped his hands.
“I am no fool, sir.”
He smiled, then nodded and stepped back.
“A lady might sleep better with a blade beneath her pillow.”
“A laird might live longer if she did not.”
“Touché.”
Once she was nestled beneath the bedclothes, he stroked a finger along the side of her bruised face. “God keep ye, Kenna.”
She sobered. “I will keep myself, sir, but thank ye.”
Outside, the winds howled and the rain beat upon the shutters fiercely enough to keep all of Lochahearn awake and wary.
But upon the lairds windows, it flailed in vain, for he and his lady enjoyed a deep and boneless sleep while the fire dwindled and died in the hearth and sentries came and went in their duties.
In the morning, with watery light seeping between slats of wood, Tearloch woke to find Kenna curled against his side for warmth and blankets pulled up to her ears.
Fighting the greatest temptation of his life, and for both their sakes, he crawled silently out of the bed, gathered his garments, and left her to sleep the day away in peace. He knew just how the king should honor such a sacrifice—
He should get his royal arse to Lochahearn, posthaste!