Emerald Embrace, page 22
Or the rumors of things that happened on the nights when the full moon reigned. Rumors … and things she had seen with her own eyes. Downed ships and a girl buried beneath the brick of the walls of the castle.
But Bruce was innocent. He had to be. No, not Bruce. Bryan. Bryan Creeghan …
She should not think it, because she must not say it. She must keep his secret.
She believed him, she thought. Or she believed in him. She must not do so too easily! she chastised herself. She had to take care with him. Grave care. In all that happened, she still did not know what he felt for her. His whispers had been gentle, tender, even, in the act of love …
But his words later had been taunting, and he was still as suspicious as she.
She could not tell him about the emerald.
And she knew, as she settled into sleep, that even more than her life, she truly had to guard her heart. She was going to stay, and so he would haunt her, day and night.
And she could not let him know how much of her he held already within his hands. She dared not.
Not if she meant to keep her very soul …
Sometime in the night, she slept. And yet she was exhausted when he rather rudely awoke her, shaking her shoulders.
He was up and dressed, handsomely attired in navy trousers and cotton shirt. He was freshly shaven and looked none the worse for wear despite the night. She was certain that she had not survived it so well.
She groaned as he shook her. “Have a heart,” she pleaded into the pillow. “Let me be.”
“I cannot,” he argued. “It’s time I return you to your own room.”
He pulled her over and she belatedly remembered that she was sleeping naked in his bed. She swept the sheet around her and realized that she was not so emotional by daylight. The fire in his eyes betrayed nothing as he watched her, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than a bath. The sensual male scent of him still seemed to cling to her flesh. Or was it simply that he was standing before her, smelling of soap and shave lotion?
She rolled, bringing the sheet around her body, and rose with an air of grandeur. “Seriously, sir, I do believe that I should have returned last night!”
To her annoyance, he laughed. “Ah, is it better to walk the halls in naught but a sheet by the light of the moon rather than risk the betrayal of daylight?”
She didn’t reply, but tossed her hair over her shoulders and headed for the door. He was right behind her, and his stride quickly matched hers. She grated her teeth.
“This is truly marvelous, milord. It will definitely allay suspicions if you walk along with me while I am closed in a sheet!”
“I’m not waylaying suspicions, milady,” he told her, his eyes still sizzling with amusement. “I am seeing you safely to your door.”
They had walked the corridor and stood before it even then. There was no one about in the early dawn.
He bowed to her with exaggerated courtesy. “We need to talk, but we’ll do so later. As always, bolt yourself in,” he told her.
She closed the door tightly behind her and bolted it securely, then cast herself down upon her bed. She began to tremble as it struck her anew that she could never be the same again.
She had met the dragon in truth, and she had been filled with the sweet flame of his breath …
She hadn’t thought she would sleep again. She had meant to just lie there until she found the energy to rise, but when she closed her eyes, it seemed she fell instantly asleep, unplagued by any dreams.
Much later, she heard a tapping at her door. She called out, and Holly answered her. She arose to pull the bolt and then remembered that she was still wearing a sheet. She tore quickly through a drawer and found another gown, slipped it over her shoulders, and allowed Holly to enter. Holly had tea, hot delicious tea, and crumb cakes.
Martise thanked her and devoured the tea and crumb cakes, amazed at the extent of her hunger. As Holly chatted, Martise interrupted to ask that the bath be brought and Holly promised that she would attend to it immediately.
While she waited for the bath, Martise stood on the balcony and looked out upon the cliffs, listening to the sounds of the sea crashing against the shore. She heard voices, yet she remained on the balcony, aware that Jemie and Trey and the giant McCloud had brought up the tub and the water. She closed her eyes and felt the breeze, and waited for them to leave. When they were gone, she closed and bolted the balcony doors.
Holly awaited her, but Martise assured her that she meant to soak until the water cooled, and that she would be fine by herself. When the maid was gone, Martise bolted the door, then stripped and stepped into the bath. She felt the water sweep around her, bathing her thighs, steaming away the touch of soreness but not the memory.
She leaned her head back, and then, despite the heat, she shivered as she wondered just who in the castle could be a murderer. She swallowed against the memories of the poor sailor who had died by the caves, and of the pathetic bones that had been walled within the crypt.
There was a slight noise, and she sat up suddenly, tension tingling down her spine. She swirled around, and a scream of amazement caught in her throat as she saw that Bryan Creeghan was in her room. Cocky, arrogant, his hands on his hips, his dark hair askew upon his forehead, his eyes bold and challenging her.
She pulled the sponge to her breasts and glanced to the balcony and the entrance, but all the doors were bolted. Her eye shot back to his with amazement. “By God, how on earth. . . ?” she asked incredulously.
He bowed slightly to her, raising an arm. “The armoire, milady. There is a spring on the side, which slides it and a secret doorway open.”
She stared at him, feeling an intense fury growing inside of her. She sat up, her eyes snapping. “You laird of all bastards!” she hissed. “You’ve been in here before!”
“Aye, that I have.”
She flung the sponge at him fiercely, calling him every evil thing she could think to mutter. He caught the sponge easily enough, and seemed amused rather than daunted by her words. He walked to the tub and stood over her and she ended her tirade on a furious note. “How dare you. How dare you! You’ve no right in here now or ever, you barbarian Highlander, you—”
“Ah, but I’m standing here now to return something that you too carelessly cast aside,” he told her, his eyes flashing his amusement as he plopped the sponge back down upon her. And then, to her great distress, he knelt by the tub, his fingers idly curled around its rim, his eyes a wicked flame as they caught hers. “And I never came to do you harm, milady—”
“Stop that!” she hissed to him. “You know that I am not ‘milady,’ and you mock me with it again and again!”
“Ah, but in truth, I do not mock you. I find you to be a lady indeed, fascinating, beautiful, beguiling. I am bewitched.” Her eyes widened. She never knew when he taunted …
When he was serious.
When he merely intended to seduce.
“You came into my room at night!” she accused him.
“From the very first night,” he admitted frankly. “I came to see that you were safe and well each night.”
Her eyes narrowed. A shimmering sensation swept throughout her, just from the heated caress of his gaze. She wondered how he could affect her so without the slightest touch, and yet, inside, she knew …
She knew where such a bold glance could lead, what delight sensual laughter could foretell. She knew the feel of his eyes raking down her nakedness, and that it was a soft reminder of the sensual sweep of his hands, the caress of his searing kiss.
Her breath was coming too quickly. To her dismay she felt her breasts swell within the water, her nipples tighten to hard peaks, and her pulse begin to beat wildly against her throat. She forced her voice to hardness. “I am fine. You need not be here now.”
But he had seen that pulse against her throat, and he leaned toward her, sweeping back her dampened hair and placing his lips against the frantic blue vein where that pulse so beat. She caught her breath, leaning back, feeling his lips slide over the steam-dampened length of her throat. She fought the swirling desire that seemed to burst forth like the bloom of a rose within her. “I told you!” she whispered desperately. “I will not sleep with you—”
His lips covered hers. His mouth was open, his tongue swept her mouth with an unceasing demand, finding every sweet crevice, invading, demanding, seducing …
No! She would not be so easily led astray, even if she had already traveled the forbidden path before. She twisted from his touch, and still she could not breathe, but she fought hard to do so. “Out, Laird Creeghan!” she demanded imperiously. “You’ve no right here. And if you think to come furtively through a secret door ever again—”
She broke off threateningly. But the threat did not disturb him. He arched one of his autocrat’s brows. “Do tell, milady.”
“Take care, milord,” she warned, her eyes narrowing, her voice a warning purr, “I shall slap that arrogant face in two seconds.”
“You may try.”
“And I may succeed.” She modestly crossed her arms more tightly about her breasts, drawing in her knees.
“And what do you hide from me, lass?”
“Out, Laird Creeghan! You are a dragon, I do believe.” He shook his head, and the amusement faded away, and he seemed very tense when he said softly, “I warned you, milady, that if you stayed, then I would have you.” She flushed, startled by the new passion within his voice that held no taunt, and no hint of laughter. “Well, milady, it has come to pass, and I’ll not forget that it has, nor shall I allow you to forget.”
“I told you—”
“You’ve nothing left to hide from me, lass. And I warned you, too, that I would haunt you, day and night.”
He stood suddenly and sauntered to the armoire. “I’ll never force you,” he promised softly, and his gaze burned her flesh far more thoroughly than the steam that rose from the water. “But I will have you again, and willing, I vow it. Nor shall I cease to haunt you, as I have promised.”
“But—”
“Are you still determined to stay?” he demanded.
“Yes, yes!” she cried out, and her fingers wound tightly around the rim of the tub.
Bryan Creeghan clenched down hard upon his jaw. His fists knotted at his back as he watched her. Did the lass not know that she drove him to distraction? Her hair curled and waved about her forehead in a damp splendor, as if she were some sea goddess. And now that she had moved her hands, the water just crested the fullness of her breasts, framing the coral areolas, teasing the taut peaks. A tightness constricted his groin and his limbs, and he wanted nothing more than to deny his words, and wrench her damp and dripping from the tub and into his arms. He could bring her willing, into his arms, giving and eager and pouring the sweetness of herself upon him, by God he could!
He clamped down with a greater vengeance upon his jaw, and locked it in a twist. Nay, he could not! Not now …
For if she was determined to stay, then it must be at his side, in accord with his every whim. And she had to understand that.
“Then I’ve come to talk!” he told her harshly.
She sank back into the water, wariness creeping into her eyes.
“Yes?”
“Someone in this castle is guilty,” he reminded her. “And if you’re going to be here, you must help me discover who. Trust no one. Be ever wary. And remember, above all else, whatever I say, and whatever I do, you must agree with me.”
“All right,” she said after a moment.
“Whatever I say, whatever I do,” he repeated in a sterncommand. “Swear it.”
“All right!” she repeated. Then added through her teeth, “I swear it!”
He bowed to her, and she watched as he walked to the armoire and slipped his hand in back to slide a panel at its rear.
Martise choked as she saw how swiftly and silently the wall, with the armoire, slid open two feet. Then Bryan disappeared, and the panel closed, and she was left to glower at it in a newly rising fury.
“Whatever you say, indeed!” she muttered. “Beast!” But he was gone, and so it was easy to defy him.
She finished scrubbing herself with a fury, and still the memories remained. Impatient with herself, she rose from the tub and toweled herself dry with a vengeance.
Despite her simmering anger, when she dressed and came downstairs for the midday meal, she meant to keep her vow.
They were all assembled at the table. Elaina, Ian, Conar, Uncle Peter, and Bruce—no, Bryan!—Creeghan. And even as she looked at them, she could not believe that any of them could be guilty. Not Ian with his laughing ways, nor Peter with his kindness, nor Conar with his sense of responsibility. And certainly not gentle Elaina …
The talk was of the games, and she found that she could still laugh when Ian remarked that he really needed to invent a new game so that he needn’t feel obliged to toss a caber. Bryan was silent, sipping his wine, watching the others.
And then suddenly, he spoke, his voice a soft and casual burr, his gold-green gaze moving slowly around the table.
“By the by, there’s something I feel I must share with you all immediately,” he said.
He rose, and Martise watched him as he came around to stand behind her chair. His hands rested on her shoulders while his thumbs moved with a startling intimacy and affection along her throat. And then, to her amazement, he bent low to place a gentle and tender kiss upon her cheek.
“Lady St. James has consented to become Lady Creeghan.”
Eleven
There was silence, absolute, dead silence at the table. It seemed to stretch forever and ever and ever, and Martise thought vaguely that they were all in shock.
Except that no one could be in a greater state of shock over the announcement than she was herself.
It was Uncle Peter who spoke first. He rose to the occasion gallantly, lifting his mug of ale high and smiling down upon them both benignly.
“Congratulations, nephew. You’ve captured another great beauty to grace these halls. Martise, milady, I warmly wish you well, and welcome you to our family.”
The words seemed to break the frost that had fallen over all of them. Elaina leapt up and kissed her brother and hugged Martise. There were tears in her eyes. “I am so delighted! Oh, Martise, we shall be sisters now. It is wonderful!”
Martise rose, hugging her back. Bryan stood just behind them and she tried to glare at him with all the fury that she could muster. What right had he to say such a thing? She should deny it this very second. What he had done was cruel, horribly, horribly cruel.
But when her eyes met his, she knew that she could not deny him. She had sworn that she would go along with him, no matter what he said or did. No matter how it hurt Elaina … or herself. And the glitter in his eyes, the searing warning within them, told her that she must keep her vow. Or else …
Or else he would see that she left the house, and it seemed more important to her now than ever that she discover the truth buried within the walls of the castle.
“I, too, am delighted!” Ian told her, sweeping her from Elaina’s enthusiastic hug. He kissed her soundly on the cheek and grinned at his cousin. “I do say, Bruce, you have managed again to do the castle proud.” He shook his head mournfully. “And I thought that I had a chance this time! Ah, well, as long as the great Creeghan beast brings the beauty into our lives … welcome!” Then he hugged her, too. And then Conar was hugging her and congratulating her, and Elaina wanted to know when they were going to celebrate the nuptials.
Her brother gave her a rather vague answer, but promised that it would be soon, very soon. “The period of mourning for Mary is over,” he said softly, looking at his family from one to another. “I see no reason that Martise and I should wait very long. However, I’ve business to attend to at the moment, so if you’ll all excuse me …” He smiled, the rogue’s smile that was not without its lulling charm. He paused behind Martise once again, and his lips brushed the back of her neck. She felt a soft whisper of flame there, against her flesh. “I’ll see you soon, my love,” he murmured. Casting his gaze over the others once again, he was gone, heading hurriedly toward the stairs.
Once again, the silence fell.
“Damn!” Ian exploded after a moment. Then he smiled at Martise and laughed. “Well, the laird has been known to possess his devil’s ways, but I hadn’t realized at all how close—I mean, I just hadn’t seen—I didn’t—”
“Ian, you’re babbling, lad,” his father told him, and asked that Martise pass him the bread basket. He grinned at her and added, “Ye’ve na said a word yerself, lass. Be happy. Don’t let the tales of evil Creeghans and dark and mysterious deeds within these old stone walls steal a single whit of your happiness.”
Ian laughed. “That’s right! Don’t let a one of those stories disturb you—even if they are true!”
She smiled. It was a tremendous effort. She stood up, anxious to escape them all, especially Elaina, who was so very happy with the news. She was dying to get her hands on Bryan Creeghan.
“Surely, there were evil Creeghans in plenty!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide, as she winked at Peter. “But then, at least, they’re interesting men. If nothing else, I shall not be bored.”
“Ah, here, here!” Ian toasted her, his eyes dancing. “Perhaps the castle itself has met its match at last!”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, and she pushed her chair in, trying to maintain her forced smile for them all. “Thank you, thank you all for being so very kind and warm,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, too . .
She didn’t have an excuse, and so she simply fled up the stairs. She wanted to see Bryan immediately, while the blood was boiling within her.
She tore past her own room and down along the corridor to the master’s tower. When she reached his door, she flung it open, ready, anxious, to wage war.
