Chapter 7 #2
“Nay, I am. I shouldna have done that, but ye ken I want ye, lass. I must … I will do better controlling myself.”
“What if I dinna want ye to?” Her heart was still pounding, her center felt empty and needy—for him. For Anders and all he could give her. She met his gaze, looking for his reaction and saw only concern, not eagerness in his eyes.
“Dinna say that unless ye mean it—and ye understand the consequences. I dinna ken who I am. Or if there’s a lass waiting for me.”
An uncertain sense of regret filled her, smothering the fire within her.
How could she have such strong feelings for a man she barely knew?
A man who was in fact, unknowable. She couldn’t fathom the frustration and dismay he must be suffering, wanting her, and not knowing what his life was like before he came here.
Her own frustration angered her. What was she thinking?
“I’m sorry, Anders. I … I hadn’t considered how ye would feel about that possibility. ”
“I dinna ken how to feel, lass. When I see ye, when ye are near me, all I want is ye.”
“Why?”
Her question made him stop and look aside for a moment.
When his gaze returned to her, he smiled.
“Ye are beautiful. And kind. Ye helped save my life, and when ye could have let others care for me and forgotten I exist, ye continue to come to me, every day. Ye speak of protecting me from yer brother and yer da. From my own worst impulses. Ye are an exceptional woman, Ailsa. How could I no’ have feelings for ye? ”
“’Twas never my intention to trap ye—”
“Ye havena. Ye have shown me who ye are, as beautiful on the inside as ye are on the outside.” He caressed her face again, almost reverently, then smoothed back her hair, his touch warm and gently possessive.
“But even if there isna anyone waiting for ye, becoming involved with the laird’s daughter could put ye at grave risk, and I dinna want to do that. I havena worked hard to see ye heal only to lose ye when my da returns and finds out about ye.”
“What can we do?”
“I have another idea. If ye would like to meet a few more Sinclairs, I have two or three friends ye might enjoy. I trust them. I could bring them here, to ye.” And they might be valuable allies if such were ever needed.
His whole demeanor changed at her words. Straightening, he gave her a wide smile that appeared only a little forced by regret for what they had done—or was it for stopping so soon? “I would appreciate that. I will never turn ye away, lass, but meeting more of yer folk ’twould be welcome.”
While Ailsa was out of the herbal, Anders took care of his private needs.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to distract himself from the desire to sink into the depths of her blue eyes and learn everything there was to know about her, the urge to touch her full lips again and taste her, the memory of the silky feel of her skin on her delicate cheek and the weight of her head in his hand.
Anders couldn’t believe he was still alive, and that he was being cared for by such a lush beauty as Ailsa.
She entranced him, just like one of the fae in her book, and like the humans they captured, he feared he would never be free of her.
He could barely breathe with wanting her. He needed to touch her, to press her body against his and take her mouth. The thought was sweet torture. His pulse pounded in his throat like the slap of oars on deep water. He wanted more, but he didn’t dare.
He should not have taken such liberties with her.
He had vowed not to and had already broken that vow.
His lack of control shamed and angered him.
That kiss was his fault. He must do better to protect her from himself—and from her own desires.
She wanted him. He had no doubt of that.
But he would not hurt her—nor ruin her—and leave her.
She deserved better of him—or of any man.
What would it mean for him when her father returned?
Ailsa’s words reminded Anders that Sinclair seemed to his imperfect memory to be an enemy, or at least not an ally.
He could not pursue anything closer with her until he knew more about himself.
Despite her objection, Ailsa might be developing feelings for him, but her father wouldn’t care about that.
He’d only care that she’d been in danger from an enemy under their roof.
The rest of their conversation disturbed him as much, if not more.
Anders could think of many things one man inside Sinclair’s walls could do.
Open a gate to invaders. Dishonor Ailsa, or kill the Sinclair heir.
Escape and tell their enemies how to get out—and into the keep.
Any of those would cause chaos. The Sinclair would have reason to be concerned about Anders’ presence here.
Boden was right, though Anders would never say that to Ailsa.
If he did, she might begin to agree with her brother that he belonged in the dungeon.
For as long as he could, he must continue to appear and behave as if he was harmless.
At least until his memories came back and he knew how truly dangerous he was—and could be.
But Ailsa was no fool. She could think of those same risks.
Why did she continue to protect him? What would her father do to her when he found out, especially after her brother blamed his presence on her?
If Anders had any idea where his home lay, he’d find a way to leave and remove the jeopardy he presented for her.
But in his current state, even if he got outside Sinclair’s walls, he could wander for days, still be picked up by a Sinclair patrol, and wind up right back here.
He shook his head to force himself back to reality.
He had no answers and wasn’t likely to get any today.
Running made no sense, despite how much he wanted to protect Ailsa.
He would have to protect her by his presence rather than his absence.
And by keeping his hands off her. Making friends among other Sinclairs was a good way to start.
It felt good to be clean, and if she brought back three lasses, he would want to look the best he could to impress Ailsa’s friends.
Alliances worked, even on the personal level.
He rubbed a hand over his chin. He needed a shave, but that would have to wait.
That or just allow a short beard to grow.
He didn’t think he’d ever worn one. He could only hope he would not embarrass Ailsa.
She had offered to fetch her friends, so he must look presentable enough. As he was would have to do.
He hadn’t seen Maighread yet today. She seemed content to leave his care to Ailsa, whom he wanted more than any lass he’d ever known, and he’d known quite a few.
He had? A brief sliver of memory showed him faces, as if the lasses danced around him and he had only a moment to regard each one.
None looked familiar. None spoke their name. There wasn’t time.
The more glimpses of faces he saw, the more convinced he was that he would remember his past. He would know who he truly was and where to go. Where to take Ailsa to make a home and a life with her. If he survived. And if she wanted him after he found out who he was.
Voices in the hall alerted him that he was about to meet more Sinclairs.
He took a breath, stood and faced the door.
He was in his element around people. He knew that, but not how he knew it.
He appreciated that Ailsa would risk so much for him, possibly exposing her friends to their laird’s wrath.
He hoped someday to be able to help her make friends among his people, too.
The herbal’s door opened. Ailsa entered first, followed by a shorter, dark blonde lass who took one look at him and paused. One of two men following bumped into her and pushed her forward, followed by another man, before Ailsa entered.
“Everyone, meet Anders. Anders, these are my friends Maesie, Murdo and Tasgall. Maesie works in the kitchen and kitchen garden, and she’s also an herbalist learning from Maighread. Some day, she may become the clan’s healer.”
Maesie stared intently at Ailsa, at him, and then back to Ailsa, as if to communicate something she didn’t want to say out loud. Anders suspected whatever it was would have amused him.
“Murdo is a fisherman and expert at weaving nets,” Ailsa continued, unaware of Maesie’s interest. “Tasgall is a Sinclair guard.”
Anders was enjoying the introductions until Ailsa named Tasgall, the shorter, stockier of the two men, as one of her clan’s guardsmen. Tasgall’s gaze on him was direct, even penetrating, but not hostile. Not yet.
“I’m pleased to meet all of ye. I wish I could tell ye what my skills are, but they are hidden from me for now.”
“Ailsa told us,” Maesie said. “We’re sorry ye canna remember who ye are. I canna imagine what that must feel like.”
“’Tis no’ the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had,” Anders told her. At her surprised expression, eyebrows lifted, he laughed. “No’ that I would ken, I suppose.” Strange, but it actually felt good to jest about what had happened to him.
“What do ye recall?”
Ah, so Tasgall went right to the meat of the matter. He had a guard’s instincts and wasn’t afraid to use them.
“Little enough. A name. Mine, I suppose. I’m using it, at any rate. Odd bits and pieces, a few images of people I canna name, places I dinna recognize. I hope those glimpses mean ’twill all come back to me.”
“The people ye see might be family or close friends,” Maesie suggested.
“Aye, I’ve thought about that. ’Twould make sense, but so far, they havena introduced themselves.”
Maesie gave him a quick grin.
Tasgall continued his interrogation. “Can ye describe the places ye’ve seen?”
Anders shrugged. “Forests, hills, a stretch of coastline on a bay that might be yers. Naught distinctive.”
“But important enough to come back to ye,” Murdo said, the last to speak up.