Twenty-six

Janet had waited long enough. Ewen had left the king’s solar over an hour ago. Lady Anna Campbell, the wife of Arthur Campbell, who was the keeper of Dunstaffnage for the king (and also, if his handsome face and muscular physique were any indication, one of the Guardsmen), had been kind enough to inform her of that, as well as where Janet could find him.

She took it as a good sign that he had been given a chamber in the castle, rather than under it in the pit prison. So why hadn’t he come to find her?

The castle was abuzz with excitement for the evening’s celebration. Janet passed a number of servants on her way down from her third-floor chamber to Ewen’s on the first. She frowned, however, when she noticed a young—and quite pretty—serving girl headed to the same door as she with a large bucket of water in her hands.

The girl was about to open the door when Janet stopped her. “I’ll take that.”

The servant looked horrified. She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right, my lady. The laird is …” Her cheeks heated. “Bathing.”

“Is he now?” Janet hoped she didn’t sound as shrewish as she felt.

The girl nodded. “Lady Helen insists that he soak his leg at least once a day.” Janet felt a pang of guilt for her jealousy, but that jealousy was instantly revived when the girl added, “I’m to help him with whatever he needs while Lady Helen attends to little William.”

Janet had met her adorable nephew a few days ago. The child was a handful, having just started to crawl. “Is something wrong?”

“The wee laddie bumped his head on the bedpost, but Lady Helen says he’ll be fine. Not even a bruise.”

Janet nodded, not hiding her relief. “I will take the bucket in to the laird. We are to be married.” At least she hoped they were. “But if you wouldn’t mind, there is something I would like you to do first.”

When Ewen answered the knock at the door, it was the servant girl who replied. “Your water, my lord.” But it was Janet who entered the room. She closed the door behind her and walked toward the man sprawled naked in the tub with his back toward her. She was just annoyed enough to look at him without shame, taking in every inch of hard, bronzed skin.

“Shall I wash your back, my lord?” she said in a soft, singsong voice completely unlike her own.

“If you wish,” he said indifferently.

The blighter! He should bloody well wash himself! It was with quite a bit of satisfaction that Janet dumped the entire bucket of water on his head. Cold water, she’d taken the time to notice.

“What the hell!” He jumped out of the tub and turned on her in shock and anger. Seeing who it was, the anger slipped away. He frowned. “What in Hades are you doing here, Janet?”

She pursed her mouth, crossed her arms, and perused that incredible body slowly, slightly mollified when a rather large part of him started to thicken and rise under her steady gaze.

He swore, grabbed a drying cloth that was lying on the bed, and wrapped it around his waist.

But if he thought to cover himself, he’d miscalculated. The damp linen clung to every muscle and molded every inch of the thick club. My, it was pleasantly warm and sultry in here.

“Stop looking at me like that, damn it.”

Her eyes met his. “Would you rather I called the serving girl back?”

It took him a moment, but something finally clicked. He smiled. Broadly. He looked so handsome it made her chest squeeze. “You’re jealous.”

She didn’t deny it. “You can wash yourself from now on.”

He grinned, crossing his arms—probably to distract her. It worked. She sucked in her breath at the impressive display of bulging muscle. Good gracious, she had new appreciation for warfare! “What if I need help?”

“I will help you,” she said through gritted teeth, knowing she was being ridiculous.

“I think I should like to see that. Biddable and subservient in one day. I will make a proper wife out of you yet.”

Her eyes went to his. The jealousy, the jesting, the muscle admiration, all slipped away. Only one thing mattered. Nothing had ever mattered more. “The king agreed?”

“Aye,” he said huskily. In his gaze she could see all the emotion swelling in her heart. “But he did have one condition.”

Janet was suddenly wary. “What kind of condition?”

“I must have your agreement.”

Tears swelled in her eyes when he dropped to his knee at her feet. He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I should have told you the truth. I’m sorry for not holding you in my arms after we made love and telling you how much I loved you. I’m sorry for not having enough courage to fight for us, for not doing whatever it took to make you my wife. I thought I’d lost everything, but none of it mattered without you. I know I can’t change things or make it up to you, but I promise I will try for the rest of my life if you will agree to be my wife.”

Janet stood there in stunned silence. Their roles, it seemed, had been reversed. The man who always said the wrong thing had expressed himself beautifully, and the woman who always knew what to say couldn’t seem to find her tongue.

He began to get a little worried, looking up at her uncertainly. “Janet?”

There was one thing she had to know. “What if I wish to continue my work?”

He paused. “You would still do so even after what happened?”

“What if I did?”

“I would try to talk you out of it. The priest may be dead, but there are others who will eventually put it together like he did.”

“And if you couldn’t convince me?”

He looked as if he would rather be chewing nails. “I would defer—most unwillingly—to your judgment. And I should probably grow just as disagreeable as MacKay when Helen insists on accompanying us.”

A broad smile spread over her features. If she ever needed proof of his love, she’d just heard it. “You, disagreeable? It defies belief.”

He smacked her on the bottom, and she laughed.

But then she sobered. “I should like to continue to help Robert, but I think my days as a courier are over. You were right; I was overconfident about my abilities and perhaps,” she conceded, “even a bit naive about what might happen. I should have exercised more discretion. After two close calls, I think I have overstayed my welcome in the Borders, not to mention run out of identities.”

“Two close calls?” he boomed.

Oops. “I guess I forgot to mention how I came to be working in a drapery?”

“Aye, I’d say you did.”

Janet gave a quick recounting, ignoring the darkening of his expression when she mentioned the squire and knight, and ended with how she’s been forced to leave without saying goodbye to the Hendeses. “Do you think there might be a way to get word to them, and see that they are safe?”

“Consider it done,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, not realizing how much it had been weighing on her.

“I won’t say I’m not glad you won’t be insisting on donning your habit again.”

Janet smiled. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Besides, it would be quite inappropriate under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

She wasn’t ready to tell him that yet. But it had been her coup de grâce if Robert had proved unreasonable. “Don’t think I’m finished, though. I have another plan in the works.”

He groaned. “I don’t even want to ask.”

“Don’t worry, it is nothing too outrageous.”

He made a pained face. “What a relief,” he said dryly. “Janet, unless you have failed to notice, I am still on my knee.” He winced uncomfortably.

Her eyes jumped to his leg. “Oh God, I forgot about your leg.” She dragged him to his feet. “Does it hurt horribly? I’m so sorry for leaving you like that—I didn’t realize you were ill the night I left. I thought you were drunk.”

He smoothed her hair back from the side of her face. “I rarely overindulge in spirits.”

She looked at him. “Because of your father?”

He nodded.

“I should have known.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t want you to know. Hell, I didn’t realize how bad it was myself.”

“Thank God for Helen,” she said.

He returned the sentiment and cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “You haven’t answered my question.”

She smiled. “Yes … Yes!”

“Thank God,” he groaned, drawing her into his arms. The tender kiss meant to seal the promise of their future, however, quickly turned into something else. Something hot and demanding. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, plastering her body to his.

The warm stroke of his tongue in her mouth made her shiver. Heat softened her bones, spreading over her in heavy molten waves. God, she loved kissing him.

The circles of his tongue became deeper and hotter, faster and more carnal. His body grew harder, rigid with the force of his desire.

She moaned, and he drew away.

“Ah hell. Did I hurt you?” His finger slid over the cut on her cheek and the bruises on her chin.

She shook her head.

“I wished you hadn’t killed him,” he said. She looked at him in surprise. But his face was as fierce as she’d ever seen it. “I would have made it much more painful for him for hurting you like this.”

She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss on his lips. “It is in the past. And right now I am more concerned with the future—our future.”

Not so absently, she let her hand fall between them, drawing little circles on his stomach with her fingertips. His skin was so warm and smooth, and the closer she danced to the prominent bulge under the drying cloth, the darker his eyes grew and the harder the bands of muscle across his stomach clenched.

He would have grabbed her wrist to stop her, but she was smart enough to use her injured hand.

“Janet …” he warned huskily. “Keep touching me like that, and I might forget my honorable intentions and your injuries.”

She smiled and looked up into his eyes. “Good. I’m fine, really I am. Please, I want this. I want you.”

Just so there would be no argument, she dropped her hand a little lower, grazing her wrist over the fat tip.

He sucked in his breath. “Jesus, Janet, you don’t fight fair.”

A wicked smile turned her mouth. “You can be gentle, can’t you?”

He scooped her up and carried her over to the bed. “I sure as hell hope so.”

With her injured wrist, she needed help to remove her clothes—a duty he was most happy to help with.

“I thought you weren’t a ‘damned handmaiden,’ ” she teased him as he unbuttoned her surcote, reminding him of a similar request she’d made in the fisherman’s hut not so long ago.

He gave a sharp laugh. “I think I’ve changed my mind. If you intend to help me with my baths, the least I can do is help you with your clothes.”

“Your enlightenment on parity in marriage is truly amazing,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “Not to mention self-serving.”

When the last garment was removed, he stood back and looked at her for so long she started to try to cover herself with her hands. But he gently pulled them away. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You are so beautiful.” He started to skim his fingers over her bare skin. “I want to touch every inch of you.”

It seemed as if he did just that. Janet’s breath was already coming fast when he finally leaned over and slid one taut nipple into his mouth, tugging it gently and circling it with his tongue. His silky dark hair slumped over to the side, brushing against her bare skin. She slid her fingers through it, holding him to her. He scooped her breast in his palm, squeezing and plying it between his hands as he took her deeper and deeper into his mouth.

Forgetting all about her injured ribs, she started to arch her back, moaning as the sensations started to build.

He lifted his head. “You are making it hard to go slow.”

“And who is to blame for that?”

He grinned, and it made her heart catch.

“I love seeing you smile,” she said softly. “You do not do enough of it.”

“I haven’t had much reason. But I suspect that will change.”

She knew it would, especially when he learned—

He leaned over and kissed her, and whatever she’d been about to tell him was lost in the sensual haze that crashed over her with all the subtlety of a tidal wave.

His heat, his scent, the feel of his skin rubbing against hers infused her, drowning out everything but the powerful sensations building inside.

He held his chest over her, careful not to press against her injured ribs, but she pulled him down, wanting to feel the contact. The heat of his bare chest against hers, and the heavy, solid weight of his body on top of her.

He’d removed the drying cloth from around his waist, and she could feel the equally solid length of his erection hot and throbbing against her belly. She pressed and circled her hips, trying to inch him closer.

He groaned, deepening the kiss and the long strokes of his tongue until she couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to feel him filling her.

Her heart was hammering, her breath was quickening, and the place between her legs was quivering with need. “Please,” she moaned.

Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes. She could feel him positioning himself between her legs. “Tell me if it hurts,” he said tightly, his muscles clenched with restraint.

He pressed into her. Slow and gentle. Inching. Stretching. Filling her. She gasped. Moaned. Opened around him.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt at all. It felt incredible. She felt full. Possessed. Loved.

His eyes were dark and hot. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” she said huskily.

“I love you, mo chroí.”

She smiled, tears of happiness filling her eyes. “And I love you.”

Slowly, his body started to move in hers in long, smooth strokes. It was overwhelming, the most beautiful thing she’d ever experienced. He claimed her body even as his eyes claimed her heart. The pleasure was every bit as intense as before, but it was deeper. It wasn’t simply the sharing of two bodies, but the sharing of two souls. He made love to her. To every part of her. Slowly, gently, and thoroughly. He was a part of her, and she never wanted to let him go.

Finally, she could take no more. Her soft moans grew more urgent. He heard her silent plea and responded. His strokes started to lengthen. Deepen. Quicken. Become harder. She could feel his body tense under her fingertips even as hers started to break apart. She had to break apart. There was nowhere else to go.

She cried out, the pleasure shattering over her in a slow, pulsing wave.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, letting himself go. He came into her in a hot rush that melded with her own. It seemed to go on forever. The spasms reverberated through every inch of her, not letting go.

It was just like before, except this time, when it did finally end, he rolled to the side, tucked her up against him, and held her as if he would never let go.

It was a long time later when Ewen found the energy and the words to speak. He was humbled, and a little awed, by what had just happened. He’d never known it could be like that. He’d never felt closer to anyone in his life. He’d swived many women, but he’d only made love to one: the woman who would be his wife. He still couldn’t believe it.

As if reading his mind, she asked, “How did you get Robert to agree?”

She was cuddled against him with her cheek on his chest, playing with the spattering of dark hairs in a V at his neck, but to ask her question, she’d propped her chin on the back of her hand to gaze up at him.

“You’d already done most of the work,” he said, running his fingers over the bare skin of her arm. “And so had my brethren.”

Ewen still couldn’t believe they’d refused to go on any missions unless he was brought back. MacLeod had reminded Bruce that he’d given him full authority over the team. The Highland Guard fought for Bruce, but they were MacLeod’s men.

“How did you get Walter to come to Dunstaffnage to help you plead your case?”

“It wasn’t easy. But I made him see that I was more valuable as his man than not. I also might have given him the idea of an alternative bride.”

Walter Stewart might be young, but he was every bit as ambitious as his kinsman James Douglas—and his kinsman Robert the Bruce, for that matter.

She lifted a brow, intrigued. “One more impressive than a daughter of Mar?”

He laughed at her affront. But in this case, yes. “I thought you wanted out of the betrothal, so I thought it better not to argue your finer parts,” he squeezed her bottom, “of which there are many.”

She made a face, and then ruined the effect by laughing.

He kissed her head and then drew her in closer. “What did you say to the king?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I just reminded him of all we’d done in his service.”

“And?”

“And reminded him of his own marriages.”

“That’s it?”

She shrugged again. “It was enough. But I came well prepared to plead my case and was confident he would see reason. Though I was not forced to use it, I had one argument that would ensure he would see things my way.”

He looked at her skeptically. “I thought you were done being overconfident. The king was about as angry as I’ve ever seen him.”

“Ah, but a good lawman always saves the best argument for last.”

“And what argument is that?”

Her eyes met his, and he felt something inside him shift even before she spoke. She put her hand over her stomach. “My menses are late.”

He stilled. His body had sensed the import of her words, but it took his mind a moment to catch up. “A babe?”

She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “I think so. Is … is it all right?”

Jesus, how could she ask something like that? A hot wave of emotion crashed over him. It tightened in his chest and throat. He didn’t know what to say. He never had. But the difference with Janet was that it didn’t matter. She understood him anyway.

But just in case, he told her again. This time with his body.

It was better than all right. It was everything. She had given him everything. The hunter had found what he didn’t even know he’d been looking for, and he would never let her go again.