~ * ~
Jamie stormed from his chamber, desire raging through him, fierce and hungry. He had never wanted a woman more. He stopped in his tracks.
She was his wife. Why had he stopped? Why was she not still in his arms, soft and wanting? He had been sure of her desire. Her response to their kiss had been innocent yet hungry. And that hunger had nearly driven him to unrestrained passion.
He shook his head.
When he at last made love to her, he needed to be in control of himself. He needed to make sure he didn’t frighten her, or worst of all…hurt her again.
He clenched his fists, angry at himself as the memory of her bruised wrists came to the fore of his mind. The pain he had inflicted had begun to heal. The markings were now a shadow of what they had been, but they would haunt him for the rest of his days. He could not risk losing control again. He reached the end of the hallway and ascended a narrow staircase that circled around and around until finally he reached a doorway that led him out onto the battlements.
He stood looking out over the baily and beyond to the rolling moorland, breathing deep the night air. Above him the black sky shone with points of light, and the moon hung full in the sky. He welcomed the quiet and the peace, but then, suddenly, a noise drew his gaze. He spotted two shadowy figures stealing across the far side of the parapet.
“Hold,” he shouted, thundering after them. When he drew closer, he recognized Fiona’s maid.
“Abby,” he called, but still she fled. In front of her was a young man. They reached the end of the ramparts, but the young couple had no place to go. They stopped and turned. It was, indeed, Fiona’s young maid and the lad who had sat with her earlier in the hall. Both hung their heads, their gazes trained on the floor, testifying to their guilt.
Jamie stood in front of the them, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze trailed first over the young man who could not have been ten and seven but was tall and well built. Then his gaze passed over Abby. Her unbound blonde hair hung in tangled disarray, and her tunic was unbelted and sliding down one shoulder.
“I don’t need to ask what ye’ve both been up to,” Jamie began, “but I do have to ask if ye’ve lost yer mind, Abby. If I had a sister like Esme, I would think twice about a dalliance on the battlements after dark.”
Abby drew in a sharp breath. “Please don’t tell Esme, my laird. She will never again allow me to set foot from the keep.”
He gave her a stern look, but then he turned to the young man. “Ye’re awfully quiet. What is yer name?”
“Thomas,” the young man replied, at last meeting Jamie’s gaze. “Please, do not punish Abby or tell her sister. I will take whatever punishment ye see fit, my laird. Put me in the stocks. Take the strap to my back.”
At least he seemed to truly care for Abby.
Jamie fought to keep a smile from his face. “I do not think any of that will be necessary, lad. However, I will put ye to work. Report to the training fields bright and early. War is at hand, and I can use a strong lad like yerself.” Then he turned to Abby. “Yer lady is going to be busy tomorrow. She is taking on her duties here in the keep. Ye will assist her.” Furrowing his brow, to ensure he looked as threatening as possible, he said, “I need both of ye to promise me that ye will not see each other or speak to one another for a full week as penance.”
“I promise,” Abby blurted out.
Thomas bowed at the waist to Jamie. “Aye, my laird. I promise as well, and thank ye for being so merciful and wise and—”
Jamie shook his head. “Enough, just get ye both to bed.” They scurried past him. “To yer own, separate beds,” he called after them.
Apparently, there was nothing like intruding upon the clumsy affection of youth to cool his own desire. He shook his head at the young couple retreating into the keep, then strode back the way he’d come. Taking a last breath of fresh air, he turned away from the night and wound his way down the stone stairs. When he reached the door to his chambers, he quietly eased it opened. The fire in the hearth crackled. Candlelight illuminated his quarters. His gaze was drawn to the bed where he could see her small outline beneath the blankets. He let his plaid drop to the floor before he climbed in beside her. “I’m glad ye’re back,” she whispered.
He pulled her close, nestling her in his arms. “Goodnight, Fiona,” he crooned softly in her ear.
She nestled closer to him. The feel of her soft, round bottom renewed the ache in his body. He longed to taste her lips, to feel her skin, but he would restrain himself until he knew she was truly ready, despite the pain it caused him.