Читать книгу The Highlander's Haunted Kiss - Joanne Rock - Страница 8

Chapter Two

The woman in his bed was a restless sleeper.

Two nights after he’d first spotted her, Iain watched the lady intruder wrestle with creamy white linens in the tower chamber that had long belonged to him. Firelight flickered in the hearth to cast an orange glow over her. He’d stirred the logs to life moments before, his leather boots soundless on the worn stone floor while the intruder continued her fitful slumber.

Did she toss and turn because she sensed his presence? She had proven far more aware of him than most mortals, catching sight of him when her companions had not. Still, he did not think she’d heard him enter the room. Highlanders knew how to hunt, stalking their prey alone rather than riding out with twenty horses and hounds the way the foolish Brit gentry preferred. Now, Iain made himself comfortable on a huge wooden chest at the foot of her bed to observe the brazen lass up close.

Eventually, he would chase her away. For now, he wanted to take her measure. Brown hair the color of a fawn’s coat spread out over the pillow where she lay, the tresses escaping from a white linen nightcap that was half-crushed from the weight of the hair it should have restrained. He guessed the silky brown mass would be just past her shoulders when she stood, the ends curling in soft waves. Her face was narrow, with pale skin and thick dark eyebrows. Her pink bow of a mouth seemed the most classically pretty feature. Dark lashes fluttered uneasily against high cheekbones as she sighed and murmured unhappily in her sleep.

Here lay a great beauty. Even if he hadn’t been without a woman for too long to reckon, he would have thought her lovely. Beneath the covers, her body curved generously in all the right places. She did not possess the long, lean frame that other women coveted in her era. But men from any time period would appreciate the lush sensuality of the feminine form that wriggled between the sheets, so close he could reach out and touch her. Iain did not dare to look his fill, lest he develop too much heated interest.

Rising from the trunk, he walked stiffly about the chamber to weigh his options for learning more about her. He would not let his clan accuse him of doing his job poorly. Why would a lady wealthy enough to travel with servants and sleep in fine linens make her home in a deteriorating ruin?

Drumming his fingers against the window’s ledge, he pondered how to obtain the answers he needed.

Until the woman screamed.

The blood-curdling shriek tore straight through him. The sound set his teeth on edge and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He turned to see the maiden clutching her sheets in a white-knuckled grip.

In her other hand, she gripped a small blade.

The intruding lass obviously saw him clear as day. Not as a fleeting shadow in a corner, the way some had perceived him over the years. But as a living, breathing man. Her eyes locked on his, in fact. The revelation blindsided him. Not until that moment had he dared admit to himself that was really why he’d entered her chamber—to discover how keen her gaze was for his presence.

“Hush, lass,” Iain urged her, unsettled to the core by this new realization. “I mean you no harm. Do not wail at me like a banshee in my own home.”

Abruptly, she ceased her shouting. She lifted her blade high, her hand trembling so that he feared more for her than him.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Breathless from the howl she’d set up, she gasped between words, eyes wide and her fingers dancing nervously on the hilt of a blade that would do him little harm unless she got close enough to aim it very, very well.

The white linen nightcap clung to her neck by a thin ribbon, sagging over one shoulder like a wilted flower. Her eyes, he noticed, were a honey-gold that shone bright in the firelight.

“Be careful, lass,” he warned her, holding his hands up to assure her he meant no harm. “The blade is sharp and your grip is uneasy.”

“Get out,” she hissed at him, her face as pale as the lightweight gown she wore for sleep.

“Let us talk reasonably,” he urged, studying her critically now that she was on her feet. Her night rail covered her from chin to toe, the stiff fabric hiding far too much for his liking. “You are far more the intruder than I.”

“You’re mad.” She pressed her back to the wall behind her, although he noticed that arguing with her made her spine straighten a bit.

“Yet I’m not the one making myself at home in someone else’s bed, so you’ve hardly a right to screech at me with orders to leave.”

“Explain yourself at once,” she demanded, tilting her nose in the air like a highborn queen instead of some runaway lass in a dusty and forgotten keep. “Before my servants arrive to attend me and escort you out the front gates.”

“Your servants are too exhausted from their labor to hear you.” He’d seen the trio asleep in the great hall, each laying claim to a corner of the only other room with a hearth fire.

He kept his voice low and even, his hands loose in front of him where she could see them. While he was always happy to strike fear into the hearts of men, he had not meant to cause her such distress. Especially not when he needed to coax answers from this mysterious maid.

“My husband is… due back in the keep at any moment.” She shifted her feet on the bed to stay upright, the soft pillows making for awkward footing. Her bare toes curled against snowy linens. “He will call you out for this offense.”

“If you had a husband, lady, I would hope for your sake he would be the sort who would kill me dead rather than call me anything.” He knew there was no husband due to return home. He had seen no sign of such a man from the moment of her arrival. “In truth, ‘tis your man who should feel the point of my blade for leaving his lady alone and unprotected in a remote Highland keep. But I suspect there will be none such arriving any time soon.”

“There is,” she insisted, her feminine voice a sweet pleasure to his ears. “Depend on it.”

“Fine. But until then, you need not fear me.” He managed a short bow. “I am the lord of Invergale. How came you to install yourself in my chamber?”

Her perfect pink mouth worked soundlessly as she seemed to grapple with an answer.

“It is a simple question.” He leaned an elbow on the ledge of a window, the view familiar to him in every season even though right now the lands below were dark. “You have sought out Invergale on purpose. You are young and not well chaperoned. You have made yourself comfortable in the master’s bed. Are you in need of a… er… extra coin for your services?”

“Excuse me?” She stepped down from the bed to stand on the floor, tugging a linen with her to clutch in front of her, as if she was not well covered enough.

She was younger than he’d realized, her face unlined, her expression uncertain now that he could see her more clearly in the light of a hearth fire.

“It is not unheard of for a maiden who has fallen on difficult times to offer her favors to the lord in exchange for his protection. You are obviously in trouble to seek shelter here.” Certainly, he liked this notion more than his earlier fear that she spied for his enemy. “Perhaps you merely tremble because you are inexperienced?”

She shook her head. “No!”

“Even better.” A new heat flared within him. “An experienced woman is all the more welcome-”

“I am not here to offer…” She pressed her lips together hard, her shoulders shaking as she seemed to wrestle with her words. Her cheeks flushed crimson. Finally, her mouth opened. “Myself.” She drew a deep breath. “I am the new mistress of Invergale.”

The heat that had been flowing pleasantly through his veins suddenly chilled. She could not have declared herself his enemy more clearly.

“If you will excuse me.” She straightened to her full height, which was barely past his shoulder. “I will dress and meet you in the hall if you would like to discuss this further. I hope we will not need to involve the local sheriff, but I can have my steward rouse him from his bed if you do not believe me.”

“Invergale is mine.” He hadn’t meant to roar the words like some territorial beast, but they surged from his throat with the ferocity of a dying man’s last wish. “No one has the authority to rule here save me.”

Frowning, she lifted her pitifully small blade a bit, as if to remind him she still wielded it.

“And look at how the place thrives under your careful stewardship.” She gestured to the roof of the tower where a hint of starlight was visible through a bit of crumbled stone. “Perhaps you have overseen the property for so long that you have come to think of it as yours, but I assure you that you have no legal claim.”

He straightened from the window ledge and advanced on her, good intentions be damned. “Do I look like any man’s chamberlain to you?”

He stopped a hand’s span from her, close enough to remind her she dealt with a trained warrior and not some weak-eyed clerk whose biggest responsibility was holding the keys to the storage rooms. Iain’s sheer size should have made his station in life clear.

“You look like a man far too accustomed to having his way, but I assure you, you are wrong in this.” The impudent female hugged the bed linens tighter to her chest, but she stood her ground with silent stubbornness despite her more obvious fear.

“Do you see the sword at my back?” he asked, waiting while her gaze flicked up to the jeweled hilt over his shoulder. “My ancestors wielded it at Flodden and Bannockburn.”

“It appears far better cared for than the tower falling down around our ears.”

The biting words were softly uttered, giving them a damning quality only a woman could manage. He shook his head, aware that his anger was fading, replaced by a simmering awareness he should not feel.

“Your boldness should not surprise me after the way you barged past locked doors to rest your head in my keep.”

The hearth fire sizzled and popped while the lady’s cheeks colored prettily. He could not help but enjoy the way offending her made her less fearful.

“It is my keep, sir. We can call upon the magistrate on the morrow to convince you, but you must leave at once.” She reached up with nervous fingers to tuck a silky brown hair behind one ear. The movement shifted the linens she held, stirring the scent of heather in the air.