My Lady Captor. Hannah Howell
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Ruari stared at it in amazement, then shook his head. It was a shame Margaret was poor and a member of Sorcha Hay’s family. She and Beatham made a perfect match, he decided, and laughed softly. They would undoubtedly have the most beautiful and the most witless children in all of Scotland.
Ruari finished the last of his cider and was just wondering how or when he would get more when Sorcha arrived. She shouldered the door open, her hands full with the heavily ladened tray she carried, then kicked it shut behind her. He watched her closely as she took away the empty ewer and tray and replaced it with a full one. Despite his efforts not to, he thought about the kiss they had shared earlier and felt his whole body tighten with an eagerness to enjoy another one.
“So, your young cousin came by to visit, did he?” she asked as she gathered a bowl of water, a cloth, and bandages to clean and redress his wounds.
“Aye. Your cousin dragged him away not an hour ago.” He bit back a curse as she eased off his bandages. “Any sign of poisoning in the wounds?”
“Nay. Everything appears to be healing swiftly and nicely.” Trying to be gentle, yet knowing there was no way to avoid causing him some pain, Sorcha bathed his wounds. “Within a few days the stitching can be removed.” She sighed and shook her head. “There will be scars, although I believe my stitching will prove good enough to make them neat and, mayhap, less noticeable than they might have been otherwise.”
“Your healing skills are to be admired.”
“Thank ye,” Sorcha muttered, his tone making it clear that she had very little else he considered admirable.
“I will soon be returned to my full strength.” As soon as she rebandaged the last of his wounds, he started to sit up, reluctantly accepting her assistance.
“And then ye mean to try to escape.” She poured him a tankard of cider. “’Tis what ye and young Beatham discussed whilst he was here, was it not?”
“Nay.” He smiled faintly. “We didnae have the time. Your cousin arrived to drag Beatham away ere we could make any plans. I did, of course, advise him against succumbing to your cousin’s lures and wiles.”
“Did ye? I advised her to stand strong against his attempts to seduce her.” She was pleased to see that her slur on Beatham annoyed him as much as his insult to Margaret did her. “Ye shouldnae waste your strength trying to plot an escape. Ye willnae be here much longer.”
“Have ye finally come to your senses and decided to stop this dangerous game?”
“I wouldnae call sending ye home without collecting a ransom, thus allowing the English to cut my brother’s throat, coming to my senses.”
Knowing that she would not fight him, at least for a while out of fear of damaging his wound, Ruari grabbed Sorcha by the arm and pulled her close. Once she felt he was healed enough to endure a little rough treatment, he knew he would not get ahold of her so easily. He intended to use his advantage to its fullest while he still held it. The annoyance darkening her deep brown eyes made him smile, for lurking behind it was the passion he had so briefly tasted earlier.
“I see that ’tis dangerous to stand too near you,” Sorcha murmured, gently trying to wriggle free.
“It could be e’en more dangerous if ye get on this bed.” He curled his arm around her tiny waist and tried to pull her slim body on top of him, but she tensed just enough to prevent his doing so without pain.
“Aye, verra dangerous indeed, especially for a mon with as many stitches in him as the tapestry on yonder wall.”
Ruari laughed softly, grabbed her thick braid, and pulled her face close to his. He brushed his mouth over hers, and his body echoed the faint tremors rippling through her. Sorcha Hay was a passionate woman, the heat in her veins equal to his; Ruari was certain of it. He ached to enjoy that fire in its full glory. For now he would have to satisfy his hunger with a few stolen kisses.
Sorcha did not fight him as he took her mouth in a fierce kiss. She savored the heat it ignited within her. It was a dangerous path she was allowing him to pull her along, but she knew he did not have to pull too hard. When the kiss ended, she remained still in his arms, fighting to catch her breath as he traced the lines of her face with tiny soft kisses.
“I am a wee bit surprised ye wish to kiss a madwoman,” she whispered. “Are ye not afraid of catching my madness?”
“Nay, I dinnae fear succumbing to your delusions. I do wonder, howbeit, if ’tis your touch of madness that gives your kisses that hot sweetness.” He touched his mouth to hers, lightly sucking on her lower lip. “Ah, lass, I wish I wasnae injured. I am eager to spend the night all asweat with you.”
Sorcha abruptly shook loose of the haze his kisses had plunged her into. She scrambled free of his hold and stood by the bed, torn between hitting him for his insulting words and accepting his crude invitation. He was looking at her as if he knew her thoughts, and she cursed. Fighting the temptation to pour the jug of cider over his head, she strode out of the room, swearing to herself that she would fight his seduction. She viciously silenced the voice in her head that laughed mockingly.
Chapter Six
“This isnae good,” muttered Neil as she moved to stand next to Sorcha in the inner bailey. “Nay, this isnae good at all.”
Sorcha grimaced, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as the evening chill began to add a bite to the breeze swirling through the inner bailey. She had been watching Margaret and Beatham play with four active puppies in front of the stables for twenty minutes. The pair were so engrossed in the puppies and each other that they had not noticed her scrutiny. They were, in truth, oblivious to everything and everyone around them.
She had warned Margaret several times, the last one only two days ago, moments after leaving Ruari’s arms and realizing the depths of her own weakness. Margaret was not heeding the warnings any better than her own heart heeded the ones she gave it. Sorcha could heartily sympathize with her cousin. Beatham Kerr was a handsome, sweet-natured young man. It was also clear that, unlike his older cousin, Beatham’s passion for Margaret was not simply a carnal one. It was difficult to know what to do or even if there was anything she could do.
“I have warned the girl many times,” Sorcha said, sparing a quick glance up at her scowling aunt.
“So have I. E’en muddle-headed Bethia took the lass aside for a wee talk.” Neil shook her head. “Margaret smiles, assures us all that she kens what we mean, thanks us kindly for our concern, and blissfully carries on just as ye see her now. Either she is more witless than I kenned she was or she is being polite when she does that. She is simply too kindhearted and sweet to tell us to mind our own houses.”
“I think ’tis a wee bit of both. Beatham is no help either. He is as sweet and as witless as she is. I begin to think that they both believe that, despite all that has happened and all that will happen, they will get what they want—each other.”
“Mayhap ye can speak to Sir Ruari. He may be able to knock some sense into the lad.”
“I am sure Sir Ruari has already done so.”
“I dinnae ken how ye can be so certain when ye havenae been near the mon in two days.”
“I have been verra busy. There has been no time to coddle the fool.” She scowled up at Neil when her aunt made a sharp mocking noise. “And what was that for?”
“Ye are a poor liar, child.” Neil crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom and met Sorcha’s look squarely. “Ye have been hiding from that mon for most of the time he has been here.”
“That isnae true.”
“Hah. If ye were animals, he would be the wolf and ye the poor trembling hare. Ye have ne’er had to be so cautious about your feelings, dearling, so ye cannae expect to suddenly become skilled at concealing them.”
For a minute Sorcha considered continuing to strenuously deny what Neil—and too