Chapter 19 #2
Carenza didn’t particular like being ordered about by a priest. But she bowed her head.
Now was not the time to ruffle feathers.
This time, however, she skipped the smile.
Father James clearly disliked her. Maybe he disliked all women.
That was probably useful in his profession.
But it rendered her best weapon—her charm—worthless.
Hew spent most of the afternoon pacing back and forth along the wall walk.
He told himself it would help him recover from two days wasted in an opium stupor.
After all, he was used to a daily diet of combat and lovemaking, neither of which he’d enjoyed for weeks.
If he could neither wield his axe or ease his lust, he could at least ensure his legs didn’t stiffen with disuse.
But that didn’t explain why he kept eyeing the castle road every time a new traveler surfaced from the woods.
Carenza had been gone for hours. Soon it would grow dark.
Had there been trouble at the monastery? Had she raised any suspicions with her questioning? Had she uncovered the accomplice and unwittingly put a target on her back?
Bloody hell. He should never have let her go.
At the time, it had made sense. She’d convinced him it was perfectly safe. Reasonable. The best option. But perhaps it had only seemed so because he was basking in the afterglow of her caresses. Sometimes it seemed to Hew that when his blood rushed to his loins, it vacated his brain.
He wished he’d never involved her.
Just then, the Laird of Dunlop and his small entourage appeared over the rise, returning from the Boyle keep. Even at a distance, Hew could hear the men jesting and laughing. Maybe Carenza had been right. Maybe they’d gone as much to crow over the Boyles’ misfortune as to lend assistance.
When his gaze returned to the road, Carenza had already emerged from the trees and was halfway to the keep. By all appearances, she was safe and sound.
He let out a relieved breath. His shoulders dropped. Finally he felt like he could stop pacing. He hurried down to meet her in the great hall.
When he neared, her eyes lit up briefly, as if he were the only man in the room. But he wasn’t. Servants hurried back and forth between them, preparing for supper and the return of the laird.
They couldn’t talk here. She quickly ushered him upstairs to the solar and closed the door.
He feared she meant to begin again where she had left off. Kissing him. Embracing him. Caressing him. Actually, “feared” wasn’t quite the right word for it.
But she had more important matters on her mind.
Without preamble, she said, “Father James was at Kildunan.”
“Shite.”
“Ye have to go back to the monastery.”
“Now?”
“Perhaps on the morrow?” she suggested.
“Why?”
“He wants to question ye.”
“Question me about what?”
“The same thing everyone has been wonderin’.”
He furrowed his brow. What was she talking about?
She told him. “Why an illustrious warrior o’ Rivenloch would wish to take holy vows at a Highland monastery.”
He sighed. Of course hawk-eyed Father James would want to know that. “What did the abbot say?”
“He said ye do mean to join the order, that ye were only staying at Dunlop because o’ the accident.”
He nodded. That was good. But he still had to convince Father James he was sincere in his monkish pursuits and not doubling as a spy.
It put him in an awkward position, keeping the abbot’s secret.
Hopefully, when he uncovered the perpetrators, he would be forgiven for not being entirely forthcoming.
“Did you learn anything from the monks?” he asked.
“Aye, though not enough to completely eliminate any o’ them.
Brother Michael is likely too feeble. But ’tis quite possible he’s committed previous crimes.
Brother Robert is a jovial fellow. But he seems irreverent enough to sin without battin’ an eye.
Brother William is quiet and tenderhearted.
But he fled when Father James showed up, as if he had somethin’ to hide. ”
Hew nodded. He knew all three monks, and he could guess what Brother William had to hide. Within the church, it was a sin worse than theft. But Hew wasn’t going to be the one to expose the poor man.
“So what’s next?” she asked.
“I return to the monastery.”
She placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him with her wide violet eyes. “I don’t want ye to go.”
He enfolded her hand in his. “I don’t want to go.”
But Carenza knew better than to argue with him. She was bright enough to recognize it was a matter of safety.
“How can I help?” she asked. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. Not for a while. Perhaps a fortnight or two. We have to put Father James’s fears to rest. Convince him my intentions are sincere.”
She nodded and lowered her head. When she looked up again, there was a probing intensity in her gaze. She said softly, “What about your intentions as far as I’m concerned?”
That he could answer. He was even more sure of it now than ever. Now that he’d spent half the day pacing the wall in worry over her.
He lifted her hand to place a kiss on her palm, enclosing it there by folding her fingers over.
“You already have my heart,” he said. “I intend to give you my hand.”
It was a bold promise. One neither of them had the power to keep. After all, their futures were in the hands of the king. But Hew meant every word of it.
Carenza’s eyes brimmed with tears of joy. “Then I shall have patience.”
He kissed her brow. “What is a fortnight or two when we have our whole lives ahead of us, aye?”
A fortnight seemed like an eternity to Carenza. She’d never been in love before. And she’d only just begun to sample the joys of courtship. How could she survive without his smoldering glance, his warm embrace, his heart-melting kiss, his breathtaking caress?
“If we must starve for so long,” she murmured, lowering her eyes to linger on his delectable lips, “then let us feast tonight.”
Regret etched his face. “Och, lass, nothing would please me more. But we dare not.”
“Why? No one will know.”
“I will know.”
“But ye mean to marry me.”
“I mean to, aye,” he said. “But every king who wages war means to win. That isn’t always what fate decrees.”
She rested her head against his chest. Listened to the steady beat of the heart he said was hers.
Fate wouldn’t dare cross her. Not when their two paths had intersected at just the right time. Not when Sir Hew was a match her father actually wanted for her. Not when she was in love with a man who was politically perfect for her and her clan. It had to be. They were meant to be.
She knew he was only acting out of chivalry. He wished to protect her. To preserve her maidenhood. To safeguard her reputation.
But she didn’t need guarding. She wasn’t afraid. No one would find out. She was used to keeping up appearances, accustomed to hiding her emotions. Her trusty mask had always served her well.
She lifted languid eyes to his. “Just one kiss to remember ye by?”
He arched a scolding brow.
“One kiss…” Using the tip of her finger, she made a slow circle on the patch of bare flesh just above the neck of his leine. “To last a fortnight?”
He shivered. She saw his resolve wavering.
“And what if ’tis two fortnights?” he asked.
She gave him a sultry smile. “Two kisses?”
“You’re a wily wench.” He grabbed her finger to stop its circling. “Fine. One kiss.” He lifted her hand and gave the tip of her finger a quick peck.
She widened her eyes in disbelief. Then she closed them with diabolical purpose. Seizing the front of his plaid, she hauled him forward and smashed her mouth against his.
She meant it to be a crude act of vengeance.
But that didn’t last long.
Tasting him again revived her hunger. Had he been so delicious before? So savory? So mouthwatering?
Though he resisted at first, it was only a moment before he too began to feast on her lips.
Their labored breath coalesced. Their tongues entwined. Their bodies melted together.
Her senses responded quickly, knowing the path ahead. Passion’s hum rang in her ears. Even within their linen confines, her breasts tingled eagerly. And betwixt her thighs an aching thirst begged to be quenched.
She couldn’t wait. With fumbling fingers, she worked at the brooch of his plaid, sucking a sharp breath between her teeth when the point stabbed her thumb.
“Let me,” he whispered.
He placed her injured thumb in his mouth, suckling it gently as he unpinned his plaid. Something about his intimate gesture was alluring. And when he began swirling his tongue around her thumb, plunging it into the deepest recesses of his mouth, she felt faint.
By the time he cast aside his plaid, she was aroused to a fever pitch. And when she began scrabbling at his trews, his eyes glazed over with desire.