Chapter 15
Gordon hadn’t slept. There had been no hope of a peaceful rest with thoughts of that infuriating, tempting, breathtaking woman hammering through his skull.
And not just thoughts now, but memories: how her skin had felt beneath the rough touch of his palm; how full and inviting her breasts were; how deliciously soft and shapely her backside was; how silky her hair was; and how intense her kiss could be, somehow still burning against his lips.
Abandoning his tower, its harmony completely shattered by her intrusion, he had gone to his study.
He was still there, behind his desk, when the sun came up.
He was still there when it had fully risen, the light brightening the room, for he hadn’t closed the drapes in here since Agnes had opened them.
I should have sent her to Laird McCandless. He’d have been better suited.
There was a man adored by his clan. A man who thrived on gatherings and feasts and reveling in his popularity. He even invited a few English lords to hunt on his grounds sometimes, less averse to the southerners than most. And he didn’t yet have a wife, and wasn’t too old.
Rubbing his tired eyes, he cut a fresh piece of paper and dipped his quill in ink. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to see Agnes and Lizzy placed somewhere where they too might thrive.
He had barely put the nib to the paper when the door opened and Agnes barged in.
“Good morning, my Laird,” she chirped, Lizzy strapped to her in a fabric wrap.
He needed a moment to blink and rub his eyes again, to make certain that he hadn’t dropped asleep on his desk and was now dreaming.
What was she doing here? Had he not made his point clear enough last night when he had sent her away? True, he hadn’t specifically said that he didn’t want to see her again, but he had assumed it was implied.
Aye, that confirms it. The lass is mad.
“Mornin’, Sunshine,” he said flatly, keeping his eyes on the paper that now bore nothing but a growing splotch of ink.
She came closer, this woman who rescued fox cubs, kissed dangerous men, and would probably not think twice about walking right up to a bear and scratching its belly. A madwoman, indeed.
“Will you be going out to the villages again today?” she asked, sitting down in the chair opposite, not bothering to ask permission.
Her cheeks were rosy, as if she had run here.
The charming color served as an all-too-potent reminder of last night and how warm her skin had been. It had been dim in the tower, but he could well imagine that her blushes had looked something like that.
How much rosier they would have been if I hadnae stopped when I did…
The nib of his quill snapped. He hadn’t even realized he was pressing it so hard against the paper.
“Aye,” he said, calmly retrieving another. “I’ll soon have word of yer duke.”
“Oh, that is not why I am asking,” she said sweetly. Too sweetly.
He frowned. “If it’s nae about the weasel, then what is it ye want?”
A dangerous question. One he wished he could rephrase.
“It is more of a need,” she replied, a disarming glint of mischief in her eyes.
Daenae provoke me, he wanted to say, but figured that would be a provocation in and of itself. This Englishwoman seemed to relish a challenge and had no respect for authority or rules, apparently determined to do the opposite of whatever he said.
So, he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
After what felt like an eternity, for she clearly wanted him to take the bait, she huffed out a breath and said, “I need to make new clothes for Lizzy. I didn’t bring much, considering we left in a hurry, and she grows so fast that what I have brought will not last her much longer.
So, we will join you on your excursion. Point me in the direction of a haberdasher or a clothier, and I shall do the rest. I did, fortunately, remember to bring a fair sum of money. ”
He sat back in his chair, staring at her in grim disbelief. “If it’s fabric ye need, ask Iona. She can fetch some for ye.”
Agnes was not just mad; she was reckless. Couldn’t she see the gaping flaw in her suggestion? Yes, he could protect her out there in his territory, but what was the need when she could be safe and sound inside the castle?
“We will join you,” she repeated, with a tighter smile. “After all, we need to be seen together if this ‘betrothal’ is to be believed, remember?”
“And ye think it’s wise to make the lassie part of the charade?” he said, gesturing to Lizzy. “Sounds foolish to me.”
“She needs fresh air, and she needs a change of scenery,” Agnes insisted, though Gordon suspected she was not talking about her niece. “Besides, I need to see which fabric suits her best, and I cannot do that without her there. Unless, of course, you are saying that you cannot protect us?”
Gordon’s eye twitched. “I have things to attend to. I cannae be watchin’ the two of ye all the time.” He shrugged. “But fine, join me if that’s yer will. But if she’s snatched, daenae come wailin’ to me.”
“I will not need to,” she replied, getting up with a triumphant grin on her face. “I already know that when I call out, you come running.”
She hurried out before he could retort, leaving him to simmer in his chair and snap a second quill clean in half.
A dark cloud hung over Gordon as he prepared the carriage for Agnes’s unnecessary journey.
He couldn’t even recall the last time the carriage had been used.
Probably years ago. And it showed, for he had already had to go to the trouble of changing two wheels and taking some of his men away from training to wax the harnesses, scrub the carriage itself, and repair anything that looked like it might fall off or break during the journey.
Keith, who had joined him in the rigmarole of it all, chuckled as they finished strapping the horses in.
“She’s a stubborn lass, that one,” he remarked. “Ye should have made her ride next to ye on a donkey, to match her temperament.”
Gordon snorted. “Aye, she’s stubborn.” He flashed his friend a warning look. “But what she is or isnae is none of yer concern.”
Keith groaned and dropped to the ground, clasping his hands in prayer. “Will ye nae just forgive me, me Laird? I swear to ye, I didnae see anythin’. Ye were standin’ in the way. And I didnae want to see anythin’. I like me lasses Scottish.”
Gordon grunted. “Get up off the ground, ye bampot.”
Keith did, his grin returning. “But there’s nothin’ wrong with likin’ yer lasses English,” he added, leaning against the freshly cleaned carriage door.
“No one would blame ye if ye let yerself care for a beautiful lass and a sweet bairn. And ye must’ve liked what ye saw, since ye didnae want anyone else stealin’ a glimpse. ”
Annoyance flared in Gordon’s chest, his eyes hardening as he leveled a cold look at his man-at-arms. “I was defendin’ her honor.
I wasnae gawpin’ at her like a laddie who hasnae seen a woman naked before.
” He lowered his voice to a snarl. “And I willnae care for either of them. Ye ken what happens when I care.”
“I ken what happened before ye killed yer—” Keith caught Gordon’s glower and grimaced. “—demons.”
“They’re here until that duke is dealt with, nae a moment longer,” Gordon grumbled.
He walked to the front of the horses. They lowered their heads, sniffing him for apples, and he stroked their long noses in a bid to calm himself.
Keith didn’t understand. No one understood. His people thought they did, but they didn’t. Iona and Marcus thought they did, but they were just as clueless.
No one can comprehend what it means, what it does to a person, when yer faither kills yer bairn and the maither of yer bairn.
There were countless myths about curses that sprang up when blood killed blood, but Gordon had never seen anyone mention how the most cursed was the one who hadn’t raised the dagger.
The one who was left behind with nothing, not even graves to pray beside or leave offerings to or beg forgiveness from.
No one understood that if his father had not done what he did, Gordon would have a family. His son would be five years old. Instead, his son didn’t even have a name; it had died with him. As for the mother of his child, he would have been married to her now, and they would have been happy.
“I would have done anythin’ for them,” he whispered to the draft horse.
Maybe they would have had more children.
Even considering having a wife and child now, after everything, sounded ridiculous to him. Disrespectful to the memory of the two who had died through no fault of their own, their only crime being that his son had been his blood and his son’s mother had made the mistake of choosing him to lie with.
The light thud of footsteps drew his attention away from the horse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Agnes walking toward him, carrying Lizzy in her wrap. As loath as he was to let either of them leave the safety of the castle, he had to admit that the fabric of that carrier looked rather worn.
Agnes smiled brightly at the little one, and when she pointed toward the horses, Lizzy clapped her hands clumsily. The baby’s giggles echoed toward Gordon, piercing his heart like a razor-sharp blade.
Iona was there too, and in her arms, much to Gordon’s disbelief and dismay, was that bloody fox cub.
“Shall we say farewell to Snout?” Agnes cooed to the baby.
Iona brought the tiny cub closer to Lizzy, and the little girl made an attempt to stroke the animal, which ended up being more of a light smack.
These women are all insane.
But he couldn’t argue about it now. The sooner he could get Agnes and Lizzy to the right village and back again, the sooner he could relax.
Although he would be having a stern talk with Iona when he returned.
She, of all people, should have known not to bring a fox into the castle when she was the one raising the chickens.
“Put that animal back in the woods as I ordered,” Gordon said crisply, casting a pointed look at the housekeeper.
Iona smiled. “I cannae, me Laird. He willnae survive. I’m goin’ to raise him and teach him nae to eat me chickens. He’ll defend them instead.”
Gordon groaned, exasperated. “And when it does eat every last one, the cost for replacin’ them will be cut from yer pay. I wash me hands of it. Do as ye please.”
The housekeeper kissed the fluffy cub between the ears and headed back inside, wearing the same triumphant grin that Agnes had displayed earlier that morning.
How was it possible that, within a household that had two female residents, both of them had decided to do what they liked?
Agnes continued toward him, clearly pleased with herself. “The poor little mite found his way back to the castle.”
“Aye, and these wheels are made of solid gold,” he muttered. “Get in the carriage, and daenae say another word if ye daenae want me to stop and throw ye both out on the road.”
Her smile didn’t fade as she stepped into the carriage and settled onto the squabs, though as he closed the door behind her, he couldn’t help but hear her mutter, “Such a kind man.”
As if him risking everything to keep her and her niece safe didn’t mean anything at all. Unless, of course, he misunderstood her tone. But he didn’t think he did.