Chapter 22
The water was still up to Temair’s knees when she stopped. Ryland was looking at her strangely. No one had ever looked at her like that before. His glance flickered down over her body and then back up. When his eyes returned to hers, they reflected a solemn, intense hunger, like that of a starving wolf about to devour her.
She should have been frightened. She was alone. Weaponless. With a man who could easily overpower her. A man who saw her as his captor.
Worse, it suddenly occurred to her that she’d led him to a place where he could escape and easily find his way back to the tower house. She’d been weak and foolish.
Yet that was not how his gaze made her feel. It made her feel desirable, powerful, irresistible.
Her eyes lingered on his mouth. She remembered the flavor of him. She wanted that again—to taste the water on his lips, to thaw at the heat of his tongue, to feel the pressure of his hips and the urging of his fingers.
In her mind, she came to him.
In truth, it was Ryland who crossed the space between them. Throwing caution aside, he walked boldly into the water, caught her head between his hands, and sealed the desire burning between them with a kiss that singed her senses and melted her into a helpless puddle.
Enraptured, she plunged her fingers into his wet hair. She gasped against his mouth as his tongue touched hers, and it seemed a flame licked at her soul, branding her.
His fingers drifted down, sweeping her face, grazing her chin, wrapping around her throat. She gulped. His hands were large enough to strangle her or snap her neck.
But he didn’t. He let his thumbs slide down past the racing pulse of her throat to delve into the shallow crevice between her breasts. She sighed, arching her back in invitation.
Flattening his palms, he moved his hands with eager tenderness over her breasts, rasping against the sensitive crests. She groaned at the lovely sensation. His answering groan incited her to more erotic heights.
Breaking from the kiss, she let her head fall back, offering her bosom to him. He leaned forward, lowering his lips to her throat, licking the droplets from her skin.
Slowly he worked his way down, bestowing kisses on her bosom, gently peeling back the edges of her léine as she begged wordlessly to be bared for his touch.
His thumb at last slipped beneath her léine to brush across her breast, to the peak where her desire was centered. Her gasp turned into a moan as he lowered his head to envelop her between his warm, searching lips.
The tips of her fingers dug into the tense muscles of his upper arms as he moved to give the same sweet attention to her other breast.
When his mouth returned to hers, she clawed his wet shirt from his shoulders, wanting, needing to feel his hot flesh against hers.
With frantic fingers, she pushed down the top of her léine, freeing her breasts. Then she surged forward in a lusty collision with his muscled chest.
The sensation was more divine than she’d imagined. Though he was strong and solid, his flesh was warm and yielding. A sensual comfort surrounded her, as if she were bathing in rich, heavy cream.
Yet within that comfort throbbed a new longing. An itch betwixt her thighs. A yearning deep in her womb.
As if he sensed her pain, he grunted and moved his hand down her stomach toward the source of her distress. Even through the linen, his fingers found and pressed that aching part of her with unerring precision.
Resting her brow on his shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut and buried a sob of delight against his chest.
He growled and hefted her up by her waist.
She instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips. But even as she rejoiced at his bold advance and the intimate contact, she cursed the hindrance of her skirts. To her dismay, she found that simultaneously clinging to him, kissing him, and moving her sopping garments out of the way proved impossible. She writhed in passionate frustration…and accidentally threw him off-balance.
He staggered on the rocks. At that same instant, she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone coming through the forest. She stiffened and tried to scramble down.
Burdened by her extra weight and thrown off-kilter by her movement, Ryland lost his footing a second time. This time, he couldn’t regain his balance. Together, they tumbled into the water with a loud splash.
It was probably for the best. The intruder was Aife, returning from the tower house. Spotting Ryland and Temair as soon as she started across the log bridge, she stopped with a gasp. As the two of them scrambled up to the shallow streambed, struggling to put their clothes back in order, Aife looked from one to the other, unsure what to say.
Ryland made a valiant attempt to put things to rights. Unfortunately, so did Temair. And they spoke at the same time.
“I feared she was drowning,” he said.
“I’ve been teachin’ him how to swim,” she said.
Aife obviously wasn’t convinced by either story. She glanced at the laundry strewn over the bushes, cleared her throat, and finished crossing the log bridge. “I have news from the keep,” she said to Temair, blushing as she added, “when ye’re done with all the…launderin’.”
Even after Aife departed, leaving them alone, Temair knew it was too late to continue where they’d left off. The mood had been spoiled.
“I’m sorry,” Ryland muttered. “I should never have done that.”
“Nay, ’tis my fault,” she replied. “I know better.”
Temair did know better. She had to accept the truth. She wasn’t going to wed Ryland.
Even if he was her betrothed.
Even if she was growing very fond of him.
Even if she craved the handsome knight with every ounce of her being.
Not if it meant ceding control to the English king. And especially not if it meant living in the household and under the thumb of her father until he saw fit to die.
So if she didn’t intend to wed Ryland, she had no right to seduce him. It wasn’t only a form of self-torture. It was irresponsible and cruel to him.
“I can’t fall prey to my desires,” Ryland murmured, as if to himself, “no matter how desirable I find you.”
Temair’s heart leaped at his words. He found her desirable?
Then he added, “I owe my fealty to my bride.”
He gave her a sideways glance then, as if waiting for her opinion on that. But she could say nothing. It was a frustrating and bittersweet paradox that he both desired Temair and wished to be faithful to his bride.
Suffering in silence and unrequited lust as she waited for the laundry to dry, Temair couldn’t make up her mind if Ryland’s integrity made her love him or hate him.
Hours later, while Ryland and the rest of the woodkerns supped by the fire, Temair and Aife conferred privately in the cave.
“Ye’re sure?” Temair whispered.
“The chieftain was seen speakin’ at length to a lass at the fair,” Aife murmured, adding pointedly, “a small, dark lass.”
Temair felt a chill go through her. “A new imposter.” It was stunning how quickly her father could replace her.
“There’s more.”
“More?”
“I spoke to everyone I know in the tuath,” she said. “No one has heard a thing about a ransom.”
“What?” Temair exploded in disbelief. The sound bounced off the cave wall, startling Aife. Temair glanced toward the vines at the mouth of the cave and lowered her voice. “How can that be? Are ye sure?”
“Aye. And no one’s laid eyes on the knights o’ de Ware since they first headed into the wood.”
“But that’s im-… What about…” Temair furrowed her brows and chewed at her thumbnail. “If they didn’t return to the tower house…where did they go?”
She knew Conall and Niell had led the knights back to the main road. And since their esteemed commander, Sir Ryland, was a hostage, his men would naturally wish to make all haste to negotiate his release with O’Keeffe. Wouldn’t they?
Bloody hell. If her father wasn’t even aware that Sir Ryland de Ware was her hostage, she’d never collect that ransom. And if she didn’t get the ransom, she’d never muster an army to take back the tuath.
Like the rags she’d watched float away downstream, it seemed her plans were rapidly drifting out of reach.
But she wasn’t ready to give up. She still held Sir Ryland de Ware captive. Even if her father had managed to find an imposter, he couldn’t very well marry off the bride without the bridegroom. For the moment, at least, things were at a standstill.
It didn’t make sense. How could Ryland’s men simply disappear? She’d seen how loyal they were to him. Surely they would do everything in their power to see him safely returned.
So what was going on?
What was she missing?
“They can’t have just vanished,” she said.
“Maybe they were waylaid by murderers,” Aife suggested, “or devoured by wolves.”
It was possible, but highly unlikely. “Ye travel that road all the time with no incident.”
“Aye, true.”
Nay, the more Temair thought about it, the more she was convinced that something more devious was afoot.
For one thing, even though he’d had the opportunity, Ryland hadn’t attempted to flee. To her chagrin, she’d led him straight to the log bridge, steps away from freedom, forgetting that he could find his way back from that place. Yet he hadn’t even tried. Why?
Temair paled, afraid to consider the reason. Her mind filled with dark possibilities. She felt her heart crack slowly into a hundred pieces.
Had she been so blind? Had she been too distracted by Ryland’s seduction to see what was right in front of her?
A powerful knight like Sir Ryland de Ware hadn’t earned his spurs by sitting back and allowing others to fight his battles. For a man like that, the only course of action was to take matters into his own hands. He would take charge, act with aggression, and secure his release on his own terms.
He meant to betray her. Of course he did. He hadn’t sent his men to collect the ransom at all. He’d instructed them to do something else. But what?
How long had he been carrying on this deception? From that very first kiss he’d given her with his lying lips? When he and his men had followed her back to the camp? She wasn’t sure. But somehow the tempting villain had managed to gain her confidence. She flushed with shame to think of how vulnerable she’d left herself to his charms.
It was only a matter of time before he turned on her like a rogue hound and snapped at her trusting fingers. She swallowed down the nasty taste of betrayal, which sank into a hard lump in her stomach.
But she couldn’t afford to dwell on her own humiliation or the hurt that squeezed her heart. For the sake of her legacy and her clann, she needed to find out where his men had gone.
“Send him to me,” she said.
“Who?”
“Sir Ryland.” She whipped out her dagger, flipped it through her fingers with a flourish, and leaned back against the shadowy wall to wait. “I need to have a word with him.”
Standing before the vine-covered entrance of the cave, Ryland hesitated. He didn’t have to wonder what Gray wanted with him in this dark and private place. But that way lay madness. He could hardly control himself around the tempting lass.
It had been only a few hours, but already he missed the stream-wet taste of her, the soft, yielding pillows of her breasts, the welcome strength of her legs around his hips.
His blood grew hot.
His breath grew shallow.
His pulse raced.
His loins tightened.
Hell.
Would it be so terrible after all to tryst with the lass before he had to bid her farewell? He might be promised to another, but he wasn’t yet wed. Besides, the married men in his company had bedded far more wenches than he before shackling themselves to a wife. Since he’d probably be leaving on the morrow, surely it wasn’t so unforgiveable to indulge in one last night of wild abandon before he marched away to bind himself to one woman. Forever.
Was he a fool to tempt fate this way? Or was he more of a fool to turn down a beautiful and willing lass?
In the end, his knightly honor won the battle of conscience. He knew he would regret it if he succumbed to his animal instincts. He was betrothed to another. And even though he’d not yet met the lass, chivalry required that he preserve his body for her. His body. His heart. His honor.
With a decisive sigh, he swept the vines aside and entered the cave. The interior was almost completely dark, lit only by the firelight filtering through the leafy curtain.
“Gray?” he called out, narrowing his eyes into the shadows.
“Here.” Her voice, coming from the left side of the cave, was soft and inviting. For a torturous moment, he wondered what she was wearing. Or not wearing.
“I can’t see you.”
“This way,” she purred.
He grimaced. She obviously expected him to feel his way to her. He ventured carefully forward with outstretched hands, lowering them when he realized they were breast-height.
He’d taken four steps when a sudden hard shove in the middle of his chest knocked him back against the cave wall. His head struck rock, and in that dazed instant, he felt the sharp point of a blade slip under his chin.
“Where are your men?” she bit out.
Her voice was no longer soft.
No longer inviting.
And her words sobered him as fast as a slap.
She wasn’t inviting him to a tryst. She was conducting an interrogation.
She knew. She knew his men hadn’t returned to Cormac O’Keeffe. That spy, Aife, must have brought her the news.
He had to think fast. Which wasn’t easy when his head was spinning and there was a dagger at his throat.
“Answer me,” she hissed, giving his chin a painful jab.
He sucked a breath between his teeth. She’d probably drive that blade into his throat if he told her the truth. Besides, it was too late for her to stop anything. The wheels were already in motion.
His best option was to feign ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“They didn’t go to the tower house,” she said. “So where did they go?”
He pretended surprise. “They’re not at the tower house?”
“Nay.” She gave him another jab. “And I think ye know where they are.”
“How would I know that?” he said tightly. “I’ve been your prisoner this entire time.”
“Where…are…they?” she demanded.
“I swear I don’t know.” That much was true. He wasn’t exactly sure where they were at this moment, only where they were headed.
“If they don’t bring me the ransom, ye’ll never see your bride.” She pressed the point of her dagger against the vein pulsing in his neck, not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to make him nervous.
“Wait. Are you sure?” he said. “They have to be there. You saw how loyal they were to me. They would have gone with all haste to collect my ransom.”
“If they were in such haste, then why have they not returned?”
“Perhaps Cormac didn’t have the coin yet,” he suggested. “Five hundred pounds is a great sum. Perhaps he needed more time.”
“Then your men should be waiting for it there…impatiently. But they’re not.”
Gray was a clever lass and an expert interrogator. It was a challenge to outwit her quick mind. He’d have to switch tactics then and prey upon her soft heart.
“They’re not?” He let his shoulders sink. “But if they’re not there… Oh, god.”
“What?”
“You don’t think they…” He was glad she couldn’t see the deceit in his eyes. “Nay, ’tisn’t possible. They’re loyal to me. I know they are. They’d never do such a thing.”
“What?”
“’Tis too underhanded to consider.”
“What?” she ground out, punctuating her impatience by poking his jaw with her blade.
“Could they have…betrayed me?” His voice cracked over the words. “Do you think they might have…confiscated the ransom?”
“Shite.” Clearly, this would not be good news for Temair.
“It doesn’t seem possible,” he said. “And yet… What other explanation could there be?”