Between a Highlander and a Hard Place, page 14
Will gestured to himself and his friends. “She’d no’ trust us. But ye, well now, ye might convince her to follow ye.”
“Where?”
Will was thinking. “The stables…a woman of quality would have learning in the healing arts… Tell her yer grandson took a fall or something.”
The older man eyed him. “Ye will nae hurt the lass?”
Will spread his hands wide. “I’m a Highlander too. I do nae fight me battles through women, but I’ll take a little gain when the opportunity presents itself. And if it keeps the laird from doing something foolish while he’s beguiled by a pretty face…well, it will be for the best in the end.”
Ransom was a game long played in the Highlands. A gleam entered the old man’s eyes as he reminisced for a long moment. He reached out and offered his hand to seal the agreement.
* * *
“Are ye avoiding me?”
Athena stiffened, realizing she’d been trudging through the passageway without noticing where she was going.
Or the fact that she had nearly walked into Symon.
Again…
“No,” she muttered as she rubbed her sore hands. “Truthfully, I was half asleep. You may rest assured in knowing your Head of House does not squander a moment of time. Hers or anyone else’s under her direction.”
Symon’s lips twitched. “Feenet put ye to work?”
“I offered my time,” Athena replied, still trying to ease some of the stiffness from her hands. “Idleness leads to mischief.” She eyed him. “I refuse to believe you spent the day accomplishing naught.”
His grin widened enough to flash his teeth at her.
He stepped closer, fascinating her once more with the way he moved. She had never really been so aware of the way a man walked, but she seemed to notice the smallest details about him.
He still had the beard.
Yet his neck was clean, proving he was not one to ignore personal grooming.
“Still deciding if ye like it?” he asked.
She knew what he meant, and yet her tongue tied up in a knot as she attempted to answer him as calmly as he was speaking to her.
The topic was intimate.
He reached out and captured her hand. She felt the connection between their flesh like a jolt. Something hard and fierce that shook her down to the soles of her feet.
“It is not something we should discuss…”
He rubbed her hand, sending delightful relief through the sore muscles.
“Ye know well I disagree with ye on the matter of having discussions.” Symon’s tone told her he was enjoying himself.
And he eased closer, tilting his head so he might look down and lock gazes with her.
She caught a hint of his scent. Her heart accelerated, but there was a flicker in his eyes that betrayed just how aware he was of the effect he had on her.
“You only want to bring up the topic of kissing again, so…” She pulled back but didn’t really gain any ground because she bumped into the wall behind her.
“I can kiss ye again?” he asked in a raspy voice as he closed the single pace she’d managed to put between them. “Aye, I did have that in mind.” His gaze lowered to her lips. “I do want to kiss ye.”
And he didn’t waste any time making good on his intentions. He cupped the back of her head, tilting her face up as he slipped his other arm around her waist, so suddenly she was pressed against him, her skirts shifting as he embraced her and claimed her mouth.
He didn’t rush. No, he didn’t need to because she was his captive in that moment. His embrace was controlled, and yet she felt the strength in his arms, and the solid wall behind her proved he knew how to trap his prey.
He also knew how to kiss.
She’d never realized how much sensation might flow from a pair of joined lips. A soft sound escaped her as he moved his mouth against hers, enticing her to mimic his motions.
She knew kissing him back would lead to madness.
And yet she rose up on her toes even as the thought passed through her mind in an attempt to warn her.
Just as it had always been with Symon, her reason dissipated and rose like steam as he heated her blood.
Now, there was only the desire to touch him. His doublet was open, granting her the chance to slip her hands inside it. She heard him draw in a stiff breath, lifting his mouth from hers for a moment as his eyes glittered.
“Touch me, lass…”
Only the linen of his shirt was between her hands and his skin. The thought set fire to something inside her, kindling a blaze that stole her breath and made her tremble.
And Symon watched her.
His keen stare locked with hers, waiting to see if she was bold enough to answer his demand.
She was.
And honestly, Athena was certain no threat of reprisal would have kept her from slipping her hands along his chest, discovering the way he felt, learning where the hard ridges of muscles lay on him.
His eyes narrowed, pleasure thinning his lips.
She was captivated by the way his face showed her his truest emotions. Never once had she ever felt so very in tune with another soul. She moved her hands again, enthralled with the way he let out a soft, male sound of enjoyment.
It would seem she was not the only one driven to wantonness.
His eyes opened, freezing her in mid-thought as she caught the flicker of need there. A moment later, he claimed her mouth in a hard kiss that drove all reasoning from her mind as the cravings in her body rose up and burned everything else away.
There was only Symon and her need to get closer to him. Their clothing frustrated her with the barrier it presented, and yet she wanted to hold him as tightly against her as she might. Athena reached up and gripped his neck, kissing him back as her heart beat so hard she knew it would burst soon.
And she cared naught.
“Enough of that!”
Symon growled. “Be gone.”
“I will no’,” whoever was behind them informed them. “Mistress Brenda gave me stern instructions to see Mistress Athena to her chamber. Enough of that now.”
Athena was mollified.
Her reason returned in a rush, like the bed-curtains being pulled aside so that the bright light of day shocked one with how lazy one had been to linger in slumber.
Feenet stood behind her laird without a care for how awkward the moment was.
“After all, Athena has no’ agreed to wed ye, and I will nae have her casting doubt upon yer good name, Laird.”
Symon grunted but turned and faced his Head of House. “So ye are protecting me good name, is it?”
Feenet fought to maintain a stern expression, but the corners of her lips twitched. “With half the families in the Highlands sending ye offers for their daughters, I would be a poor Head of House if I did no’ ensure there is no gossip attached to yer good name. What sort of father would be willing to send his daughter here if yer name is tarnished?”
She reached past him and grabbed Athena’s hand, tugging her away from the wall.
“I would no’ care to have Athena telling one and all in England that we Highlanders have no Christian nature.”
Symon crossed his arms over his chest and smiled menacingly. “I am in yer debt.”
There was a double meaning in his statement that none of them missed. But the Head of House only lowered herself before turning and urging Athena down the passageway. When Feenet’s back was to him, Symon sent Athena a look full of the unsatisfied passion still burning in them both.
But she turned and made her way to her chamber, offering courtesy to Feenet before the older woman took her leave. It left Athena alone with her thoughts, although there was really only one true item lingering on her mind.
More like stuck…
True, she had hoped to forget it before making it to her chamber, but it was still there, tormenting her with just how impossible she was finding it to brush aside.
She didn’t like hearing that she would be returning to England.
Not a bit.
Did she dare to follow passion? Wasn’t that the very foolish action that had landed her in her present circumstances?
Athena lay down in her bed, still marveling at the comfort of having a true bed when she had spent so many weeks in a wagon.
So wasn’t it ridiculous to even entertain the idea of embracing her whims when she’d so very recently had a taste of what consequences might be hers after such folly?
And yet Symon’s kiss lingered on her lips, following her into slumber where her dreams were full of him and how much she longed for him.
* * *
“Ye sent Feenet after me?”
Brenda was brushing out her hair. Symon was accustomed to seeing her, and yet he realized how very stunning she really was. Her hair was the color of an autumn sunset. There was red hair aplenty in Scotland, but Brenda’s looked like fire had been caught up in the strands.
“Athena needs to be reminded of what a fine catch ye are,” Brenda informed him as she put her brush aside and turned to move across her receiving chamber to where she kept a collection of fine spirits. She was graceful and poised as she poured him a measure of whisky.
Of course, she’d been raised to be the perfect wife, and her father had wed her to an excellent match of noble blood.
“Ye and Athena have a few things in common,” Symon remarked as Brenda offered the goblet to him.
“By that do ye mean we are both free to make our own choices?” Brenda asked as she returned to her dressing table.
“I mean ye have both discovered noble blood does nae ensure nobility in a man.”
Brenda offered him a little pursing of her lips. For a long moment, the only sound was the fire crackling. Symon realized Brenda’s chamber didn’t hold the appeal it had for the last year. He felt stifled within its walls, as though he was missing an opportunity.
“I will have Athena.”
Brenda smiled slowly. “I know.”
Symon put the whisky down. He didn’t want to dull his senses.
He’d squandered enough days. Sitting in the chair was impossible when there were matters to attend to. He pushed up and out of it, cursing the night and how many hours there were between him and the chance to run Athena to ground.
“Be patient, Symon.”
He had his hand on the door when Brenda spoke. It wasn’t her warning that made him turn and look at her; it was the resignation in her tone.
She was lonely.
Brenda covered the lapse in composure the moment she realized he’d looked back at her.
“Ye will want to know she chose ye, so let her come to terms with ye, or she might never admit she desires the union as much as ye do. Women are told so very often how much they should abhor such things as passion. It becomes difficult to think past the lectures.”
“Boys are lectured on courage and facing what ye fear and never wavering because of doubt but to go quick and directly toward our goals.”
Brenda stiffened.
“It seems we both need to listen a wee bit to the opposite sex, Brenda. I will keep yer words in mind.”
“As I should listen to what ye have just said?” Brenda inquired tartly.
He offered her a firm nod before turning toward the door.
“Symon…” Brenda didn’t raise her voice. Instead she used the purring tone women had learned to utilize in order to cut through the pride of the men who ruled the world around them.
Symon whirled around so fast his kilt flared up.
“She can’t run if you don’t chase her,” Brenda remarked.
Symon grunted at her.
Brenda raised a slim finger. “I doubt she will break her fast in the hall in the morning.”
“I cannae precisely blame her for avoiding the high table,” Symon replied, clearly impatient to be gone because he had made a firm decision on what he intended to do.
Brenda turned and sent him a look. “As I said, she can’t run if you don’t chase her. Now, if ye were to bring her something to eat because ye noticed she’d fled the hall and all the eagerness of yer people to push her into a union she has yet to come to terms with…well…she might find herself grateful…and content to be in yer company.”
Symon’s face lit with understanding. His lips curved into a very pleased smile. He moved back across the floor and placed a kiss on Brenda’s temple. “I do nae tell ye enough how grateful I am for ye, Cousin.”
“Talk to her, Symon,” Brenda advised him. “Let her discover who ye are beyond the laird of this clan. Me guess is she’s had a belly full of men telling her what to do. She’d never have spent months in a wagon if she was content.”
“Why do ye think I cannae stomach the idea of letting her go?” Symon said solemnly. “Ye can be very sure I have no heart to be her captor.”
“I understand yer reasoning,” Brenda answered. “Ye could have sent for one of the girls offered to ye if all ye wanted of a union was obedience.”
“We’ve both had enough of that to last a lifetime,” Symon replied gruffly.
“Indeed we have,” Brenda said. “So let her learn who ye are.”
Symon was gone a second after she spoke.
Leaving Brenda alone with just how envious she was of Athena.
Perhaps she should reply to Bothan Gunn’s letter.
Her eyes narrowed. Bothan could listen to the same advice she’d just given Symon. She would not wed a man who had simply decided to claim her.
No, she’d have more or nothing at all.
* * *
Symon nodded and pulled the door open. For all that he’d done the same thing hundreds of times, tonight, as he crossed into the passageway outside Brenda’s chambers, something felt different. There was an odd feeling in the air that made the hair on his body tingle. Symon turned his head, catching something in the dark.
For a moment, all he saw were shadows and the normal things he expected to see in the darkness.
And then there was a wisp of light. Like mist at dawn, it shimmered with the first rays of the rising sun.
Only the moon was covered by clouds tonight.
He blinked and tried to dispel the image. It remained, forming into a woman who turned and lifted her hand in a shy wave.
Tara.
He heard her quiet laugh before she looked up and reached for something above her that he couldn’t see.
Many would have made the sign of the cross over themselves. Instead, he could feel his lips curving into a content smile as the passageway returned to darkness and shadows. He’d known she haunted the tower. Had felt her presence and even taken solace in what company there was to be had in a spirit. Guilt assaulted him as he pondered whether he’d kept her from moving on to the next life.
It was likely true, for Tara had come to him as wife, devoted to easing his lot with gentle companionship. Even in death, she’d refused to abandon her duty.
At least not until he’d stopped mourning for her.
It was done now. He felt the sureness of it, as if his heart had suddenly begun beating again.
Aye, he would have Athena, and he suddenly realized he was going to enjoy chasing her.
Enjoy it a very great deal!
* * *
England
“Mother,” Dorothy interrupted the Dowager Countess of North Hampton as she read a newly arrived letter. The maid had just delivered it.
“Why are you dealing with that goldsmith and his daughter?” Dorothy demanded. “Galwell is from finer stock.”
The countess held up a slim finger encased in a very finely tailored glove. “I thought so as well. However, Lord Leicester is the Queen’s confidant and very old friend.”
Dorothy shook her head. “Not since he wed Lettice Knollys in secret last year.”
The countess waved her hand through the air, dismissing her daughter’s reasoning. “A matter that will be forgotten far sooner than many realize. Leicester was with Her Majesty when they were all banished and labeled bastards and the spawn of traitors. Trust me, Daughter, keeping in his good graces is worth a few letters to discover the truth of the goldsmith’s niece. Lord Leicester will want Galwell occupied somewhere other than at court, and it is an excellent opportunity for us to make certain we are due a favor from him. One we shall call in once he is back in the Queen’s confidence.”
Dorothy fingered the velvet of her skirt. “Niece, is it?”
“Yes,” her mother informed her with a smile of victory. “And as it so happens, the girl is the spawn of Henry Lennox.”
Dorothy drew in a startled gasp. “I wonder if Galwell knows such.”
“I wager not,” the countess said as she read through the letter once again. “Even illegitimate, her blood link to the Stewarts is strong. According to my sources, Galwell tried to make the girl his mistress, but she set fire to his house and escaped.”
Dorothy’s eyes widened as her lips rose into a wicked smile.
“It seems the girl is missing and the uncle has made several trips to see some of his longtime customers. No doubt he is gathering support.”
“Galwell Scrope is truly a scoundrel,” Dorothy declared softly.
“Many men are, dear, as I have told you often enough. Family is your truest ally. However, we shall make a good one of Lord Leicester with this information.”
“Leicester won’t be able to force Galwell to wed this girl.”
“No,” the countess agreed. “However, as it is spring and Her Majesty is now on royal progress, Lord Leicester will be closer to the edge of Scotland where he will be able to share this information with the Dowager Countess Lennox. She will not take kindly to Galwell sullying the Stewart name or the Stewart blood. And as for Galwell himself…” The countess took a moment to smile at her daughter. “Once his father learns of the dowry the girl has, Galwell will be ordered to wed her. I have already sent a letter to Baron Scrope as Lord Leicester requested I do.”
