Six

Janet didn’t think her heart started beating again until she was halfway to Roxburgh.

After she’d managed to get him back to sleep, she’d retrieved her belongings from the hearth downstairs and slipped past the sleeping occupants of the inn to escape into the cool morning darkness with little trouble. But her heart had jumped straight through her throat earlier, when she’d tried to step over him to get to the door and he’d opened his eyes and grabbed her by the wrist.

Whether he’d been awake or half-asleep, she didn’t know, but for one long heartbeat she’d thought he meant to pull her down on top of him. The knowledge of how badly she wanted him to made her panic. She needed to do something.

Without thinking, she reached out and touched him, trying to calm him back to sleep as she had her sister Mary after a nightmare when they were young. But touching him was nothing like touching her sister.

Even as Janet hurried along the road through the forest that connected Trows to Roxburgh, she could still feel the silky thickness of his hair running through her fingers. Surely a man—particularly a soldier who looked like he was born on the battlefield—shouldn’t have such soft hair? But the dark, glossy waves slid through her fingers like the finest silk. She could still feel the solid thickness of his back and arm muscles as she’d tried to soothe the tension from his limbs and ease him back to sleep. But most of all, she could still feel the scratch of his whiskers against her mouth as she’d brushed her lips over his stubble-roughened jaw.

What in heaven’s gates could have possessed her to kiss him? She still couldn’t believe it. But she’d been singing in his ear, and his cheek had been so close and irresistible.

He’d smelled like whisky and pine, and his skin had tasted so … good. Dark and sweet, with a faint trace of spice. A rush of strange sensations washed over her. Her pulse raced, her skin felt flush and prickly, her limbs felt heavy and her breasts full. Her nipples tightened, and she suddenly felt the restless urge to rub her body against his.

For one treacherous moment, there in the darkness, she’d wanted to crawl in beside him. She’d wanted him to take her into his arms and show her what a man did to a woman. She wasn’t ignorant about the act, but until that moment she hadn’t though herself capable of wanting to experience it.

No man had ever made her feel like this. Confused, half-crazed, and scared all at the same time.

Her feet quickened as she sped up her pace, racing as much away from him as she was toward Roxburgh and the future she had all planned out. A future that didn’t include lustful thoughts or being distracted by a man. She was going to be a nun, for goodness’ sake!

It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She felt a small squeeze in her chest before she brushed it away. Of course, it was. Taking the veil made sense. How else could she continue what she was doing? As a nun, she had freedom. A purpose. She liked working for Lamberton and was proud of all she’d done to help Robert.

What other options did she have? For a noblewoman there were two: marriage or the veil, and she knew marriage wasn’t for her. She’d been engaged twice before, and both times the engagement had ended in the death of her fiancé. War had killed many of Scotland’s young noblemen, but to Janet their deaths had seemed like an omen that marriage was not meant for her.

Besides, she was happy, and in her experience happiness and marriage did not go together. Her father had ordered her mother around like a serf, her sister Mary’s girlish love for the Earl of Atholl had turned to misery, and Duncan and Christina had spent most of their time arguing.

Why was she even thinking about this? Even were she to decide she wanted to marry, it would never be to an ordinary soldier, even if he didn’t seem ordinary. She frowned. She was a daughter of Mar, the former sister-in-law of a king and aunt to his only heir. Her choice of husband wouldn’t be hers at all. It would be a political match brokered by Robert.

For more reasons than one, the gruff Highlander with the silky hair and irresistibly kissable jaw wasn’t for her.

She was practically running now, breathing hard, and despite the chill of the morning mist, a sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow. She couldn’t seem to get away fast enough. She figured she had at least an hour’s lead on him, which even if he tried to follow her would give her plenty of time to reach Roxburgh on foot—it was only a mile or so away. But just to make sure, she veered off the road as she drew near the town and took a roundabout route to the castle through the forest.

She’d thought about absconding with the horse but hadn’t wanted to risk waking the stable lads. In hindsight, perhaps it was a risk she should have taken. Too late, she heard the sound of hoofbeats. She gazed around like a startled hare, frantically looking for a place to hide. But he was on her before she could dart into a hole—or in this case, the brush.

Her heart was beating like a drum, but she hoped she managed to appear cool and serene when she turned to face him. “How did you find me?”

He didn’t bother to answer her question. His face, half-hidden by the helm again, was a mask of icy rage. He leapt off the horse and grabbed her roughly by the arm. “You little fool, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

She might have felt the urge to cower—having six-foot-plus of solid muscle and angry male bellowing at her wasn’t exactly unintimidating—if he hadn’t riled her own anger. “If anyone is acting foolish, it is you for chasing after me! I’ve told you before, I don’t need or want an escort. I didn’t ask for you to accompany me, and I don’t need your permission to leave without you.”

“The hell you don’t.”

She had to admit, she felt a little shiver of fear when he growled and pulled her even harder against him. But then she wondered whether it was something else when her heart took a sharp dive and heat coursed through her. A reaction that she was becoming used to where he was concerned.

Good Lord, she loved the way he smelled—the mix of the wind in his hair, the pine of the forest on his skin, and the leather of his cotun.

His face lowered to hers, and she sucked in her breath, wishing that helm covered the steely blue-gray eyes that were flashing at her with as much danger as the sword he had strapped to his back once again. “Did you stop to think that my ‘wife’s’ sudden disappearance from our bed before dawn might be a little suspicious?”

Janet bit her lip, fighting back the flush. She hadn’t. All she’d been thinking of was getting out of there. “I’m sure you thought of something to appease her.”

“Not everyone is as clever at lying as you.”

There was no stopping the flush this time. He didn’t know the half of it. She lifted her chin stubbornly. “Even if the innkeeper is curious, I’m sure it will come to nothing.”

“Is that so? I’m not sure the party of English soldiers I saw approaching the inn as I was leaving will agree with you. But let’s hope the excuse I made will suffice.”

English soldiers? The first prickles of guilt started to form. “What did you say to her?”

“That you’d gone to the local church to pray for your mother’s recovery before we started out on our journey.”

Air eased out of her lungs, and she nodded. “It’s a good excuse.” She was surprised he’d come up with it.

His eyes narrowed as if he could read her mind. “The innkeeper might have believed me, but the English sure as hell won’t if they decide to follow up on us at the church.”

“If they are indeed looking for us, and if they make the connection, perhaps. But there is no reason to suspect either. It was probably just an English scouting party from the castle.” She wrenched her arm out of his hold and took a step back. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t insisted on accompanying her, she wouldn’t be feeling so … confused, and she wouldn’t have felt the need to run away. “I’m sorry for leaving you with an explanation to make to the innkeeper, but there is something I have to do in Roxburgh, and you aren’t going to stop me.”

Janet saw the flash in his eyes and knew she’d made a mistake. Whether it was the challenge of her words or something else, she didn’t know. But before she could take another breath, he’d jerked off his helm, pulled her into arms, and fitted her tightly to his body, giving her no doubt of his intent.

This time the thrill that shuddered through her was unmistakable. It was as if a wave of molten heat had been poured over every limb. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t push him away.

She didn’t want to push him away.

“The hell I’m not,” he said, right before his mouth covered hers.

So this was what it felt like to lose control. Ewen didn’t know what possessed him to take her in his arms, but the moment his lips touched hers he no longer gave a damn.

Her lips were so silky soft and sweet, he groaned at the first taste of her. The blood and anger roaring through him urged him to go fast and hard, to take and plunder, to lose himself in the sweet, enveloping heat. But something stronger quieted the primitive urge and made him slow down.

Innocent. She was so damned innocent, and suddenly that was all that mattered. As much as he wanted to ravish her senseless, he didn’t want to scare her. So he loosened the hold he had around her, lightened the pressure of his lips, and kissed her gently. Tenderly. Reverently.

He couldn’t recall ever wooing a lass with his mouth, but he did so now. With each deft caress he beckoned her to him, showing her—teaching her—what he wanted from her.

Slowly, he could feel the shock slip away and her body begin to relax. He wanted to roar with masculine satisfaction, but he settled for a soft growl.

But then she nestled in closer against him with a sound that went straight to his cock and nearly wiped away all his good intentions.

Take it slow, he told himself. You can do this. It’s nothing you haven’t done hundreds of times before.

He nearly chuckled at the exaggeration, recalling her reaction—oddly, it had seemed more like jealousy than religious condemnation—but he didn’t feel much like laughing when he realized that this was not like anything he’d done before. Kissing her was an entirely different experience, and he didn’t like it.

Except he did like it. Too damned much.

Slow.

But she wasn’t making it easy, the way her fingers were digging into his shoulders as she gripped him harder and harder, and he felt her own pleasure building.

He cradled her face in his hand, stroking his thumb over the soft curve of her cheek, feeling his chest squeezing tighter and tighter with each caress. Her lips were like velvet, her breath like honey, and she smelled … God, she smelled like a fistful of bluebells that had been sitting in the sun. He wanted to sink into her and let that scent swallow him up.

His fingers slid around her neck, plunging through the soft waves of her hair. She’d been wearing a hooded cloak, but the hood had slid back to reveal the magnificent golden mane, loose, no doubt, because of the haste of her departure.

He didn’t want to think about that now—but it was a good thing tracking her had been so appallingly easy. All he wanted to think about was how incredible her lips felt on his, how good it felt to have her breasts crushed against his chest and her hips nestled to his groin, how silky soft her hair was on his fingers as he gripped the back of her head and held her mouth to his, and how much longer could he stand to take it slow when every fiber, every instinct, every drop of blood and bone in his body wanted to slide his tongue into her mouth and taste her deeper.

He groaned, anticipating the feeling of her tongue circling his. It was going to feel so good …

His head, his heart, every part of his body was pounding. He couldn’t wait any longer.

He brushed his mouth over hers again and urged her lips apart. Then he filled her mouth with his, swallowing her gasp of surprise when his tongue licked into the honey-sweet cavern.

Oh God, that was good! Even better than he’d anticipated. Hotter. Sweeter. Darker and more erotic.

He pulled her closer, needing to feel the friction of her body against his as his tongue plunged deeper and deeper in her mouth. He bent her to him, feeling himself drowning, feeling his body being dragged into a vortex of pleasure so acute he wasn’t going to be able to pull himself out.

He could feel her heart hammering against his, feel her shock, and then her discovery as her body awakened to the passion that ignited like wildfire between them—hot, devastating, and uncontrollable. He’d never felt anything like it. But it was nothing to the sensations that exploded inside him when he felt the first circle of her tongue against his. It sent a wave of heat to his groin so strong that it nearly made his knees buckle.

She might be innocent, but there was nothing innocent about her response or the sensations it incited. Going slow was forgotten as he pushed her back against a tree, wrapped her leg around his waist, and descended into the madness of passion, their tongues gliding and sparring in a wicked dance.

His cock was throbbing, positioned at the sweet juncture between her legs. He couldn’t resist. He started to rock, needing the friction of her body moving against his.

He wasn’t thinking now—had he ever been?—instinct had set in. He was kissing her harder, dragging his hands over her body with a possessiveness that said they were meant to be there. He cupped her incredible breasts, and then her bottom as he lifted her more tightly against him.

Oh God, right there. That was it. He clenched, his buttocks tight against the pressure. It felt so good, he had to fight the urge to come.

He couldn’t wait to be inside her.

He dragged his mouth from her lips to her neck, covering the frantic pulse beneath her jaw with his mouth and sucking until she squirmed and moaned against him.

Hot. It was so damned hot he couldn’t breathe.

He could hear the quickness of her breath, and the soft little gasping sounds she was making were driving him wild. He felt her body shudder with surrender and knew she was his.

Mine. The knowledge pounded through him like the hammer of a drum. He tore his mouth away and looked down at her. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen and her eyes half-lidded with passion. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful.

Something strange stirred in his chest. A feeling—an emotion—he’d never felt before. It was more than lust and more than possessiveness, it was softer … sweeter … more significant.

But then his gaze dropped and all the desire, all the passion, all the strange emotions he was feeling tore out of him in one horrified breath. Dangling across the breast that he’d just held in his hand was a wooden cross.

Shame rose inside him, as bitter and nauseating as bile.

What the hell was he doing? She was a nun, for Christ’s sake! The immensity of his sin took him aback.

He released her so suddenly, she swayed, and he had to reach out to catch her before she fell to the ground.

One moment Janet was climbing the gates of heaven toward a beautiful sea of light, and the next she was flailing in darkness, trying to catch herself from falling on the cold, hard ground of reality.

The swift curtailment of the most incredible sensations she’d ever experienced left her yearning, aching, and confused. When the arms that had been holding her so tightly suddenly closed around her again, she gasped with relief and clutched him like a lifeline.

Don’t stop, she wanted to say. Please don’t stop. It feels so good.

But then she looked into his eyes and the coldness—the disgust—was like a drench of icy water, shocking her back to reality.

She jerked away from him, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his. Why was he looking at her like that? What had she done?

And then she remembered. The look wasn’t directed at her.

They stared at each other in a moment of mute horror. Hers for how easily she’d succumbed, and his with the shame and guilt of what he’d done. Or rather, what he thought he’d done.

Were she really a nun, kissing her would be a grave sin indeed, and from the sickened look on his face, the realization was hitting him hard. Seeing the depth of his torment, Janet felt something in her chest grow tight and hot.

She wanted to tell him the truth—and for one moment she almost did—but then sanity returned. Right now, her habit was the only thing that was keeping them apart. Were she to remove it—figuratively—it could very well lead to having it removed literally.

After that kiss, she didn’t trust herself.

She’d never imagined …

Never thought …

Never realized it could be like that.

She’d never thought she could be capable of such madness. For surely it was madness when the feeling of his mouth moving over hers, the wicked sensation of his tongue flicking against hers, the heat of his hands on her body, could obliterate all rational thought and make her forget everything that was important to her?

She didn’t want anything to interfere with her work for Bruce and Lamberton, and instinctively she realized that this man could threaten that.

Her gaze slid to his mouth. For lips that were often thinned and pulled in a rather grim line, they were certainly soft and smooth as honey when he wanted them to be. For that matter, she would never have expected such a rough and uncouth warrior to kiss with such skill and tenderness.

Obviously, those “hundreds” had not been without effect.

Why did that realization make her chest ache?

It wasn’t that she cared who he’d been with, she told herself, it was just that she didn’t like surprises. Especially ones that were so devastating. And that kiss certainly qualified.

Mother Mary, she’d nearly let him take her innocence! Indeed, she’d practically handed it to him with no more inducement than a skilled kiss and a few heated caresses.

Her cheeks burned. Well, maybe more than a few. She had to force herself not to drop her gaze further, remembering the incredible sensation of the thick column of his manhood riding against her. She’d wanted him even closer. She’d wanted him—her cheeks burned—inside her. Wanted it so intensely that she would have thrown away everything—her virtue, her morals, her honor. She’d been brought up a lady, never allowed either of her betrotheds even a chaste kiss, but with one press of his lips he’d turned her into a wanton.

The charged silence stretched on until finally, he broke it. “That should never have happened.”

For once they were in agreement.

His gaze had shuttered, and once again she found herself looking at the hard, implacable warrior.

“I hope you will accept my apology, but”—he should have stopped there—“you made me angry.”

Janet was aghast. “So this is my fault for not meekly following along and doing your bidding?”

His eyes narrowed at her sarcasm. “Meek and biddable might help to remind me that you are a nun. And pious and serene, for that matter. You don’t act like any woman of the cloth I’ve ever met.”

“And have you had ‘hundreds’ of them with whom to compare me as well?”

He stilled, his gaze turning as hard and penetrating as a steel dagger. “What happened to your accent?”

Janet hoped she hadn’t gone as pale as it felt like she had. “What are you talking about?” she replied in her Italian accented French, careful not to overdo it.

But he was like a hunter who’d just trapped a hare and wasn’t about to let go. He took her by the elbow. “What are you hiding, Sister? Who the hell are you?”

Fear rose inside her as those penetrating steel-blue eyes locked on hers. She felt exposed and wanted to run, but had no place to hide. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest as the veil she’d erected between them threatened to dissolve. She just wanted him to let her go.

“I’m an innocent maid in the service of the Bishop of St. Andrews whom you almost seduced. That’s all you need to know, and all that matters. Do not attempt to absolve your own guilt by seeing things that aren’t there and making excuses for your own actions.”

Her dagger had drawn blood. He dropped her arm and stepped back. “You are right.”

Janet felt a twist of guilt in her chest, seeing the shame once again on his face, and wanted to reach for him. But she kept her hand firmly planted at her side. It’s better this way, she told herself.

“There is no excuse, and I will not attempt to make one. You have every right to blame me for what happened. You can be assured I will confess my sins at the next opportunity.” His mouth fell in that grim line that she was beginning to find strangely attractive. He gave her a pleading look, which she suspected was rare and didn’t appear to sit very comfortably on his face.

He reached his hand to his head as if he meant to rake his fingers through his hair, but then let it drop. “Look, can’t we just try to forget about this and pretend it never happened? I don’t want there to be any difficulties when we reach Berwick.”

She would like nothing better. But Janet suspected forgetting about it and pretending it had never happened was going to be impossible. Even now, just looking at him, her skin flushed with a new awareness. Passion, desire … lust. Like Pandora, she’d opened the lid and was now tasked with finding a way to put away all those feelings again. But once released, would they ever go back?

She had to try.

Difficulties, he’d said. He was obviously concerned that she’d tell Lamberton what had happened. Janet was about to assure him that she’d rather swallow nails than speak of what had occurred here, when she stopped, considering what else he’d said: Berwick. She hated using his torment against him, but in this case, she told herself it was warranted. She had a job to do.

She nodded. “Confession will ease my mind a great deal. There is a small church in Roxburgh where you can go while I attend to my business in the castle.”

“We aren’t going to Roxburgh. Berwick will be soon enough.”

“Not for me. Besides, if I return to Berwick having failed to bring back those sugared nuts, the bishop might wonder why, and I will have to give him an explanation.” They both knew she wasn’t talking about nuts. “It is no more than a half-mile away. Please, I will be careful, and there is no cause to think there will be any danger. I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

Her gentle teasing and attempt to ease the tension between them elicited nary a flicker of a smile. Ewen wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

He knew what she was trying to do—use his guilt against him—but was too damned angry with himself and wracked with shame to find the energy to put up a fight. Or maybe he just didn’t trust himself to have another argument with her. He was still reeling after what had just happened. By how thoroughly he’d lost control, and how quickly a kiss had dissolved into so much more.

How could he have forgotten himself like that? His father was the one who took what he wanted. Ewen had much more discipline than that—usually.

It had been easy, he realized. She’d responded with an openness and eagerness that made it easy to forget she was untouchable.

He wasn’t the only one who’d sinned. She might not want to admit it—and he was (just) gallant enough not to point it out—but she’d wanted him as badly as he’d wanted her.

“Please,” she repeated. “It won’t take any more than an hour, and then we can be on our way.”

Ewen stared down at that pale upturned face, at the wide blue-green eyes, the pink lips still swollen from his kiss, and the classically arranged delicate features, and felt something shift in his chest.

He was going to give in, damn her. They would go to Roxburgh. It was his guilt, he told himself. It wasn’t that he would give her anything she wanted when she looked at him like that.

“I think you missed your calling, Sister.”

She blinked at him in confusion, her long, feathery lashes fluttering like a raven’s wing. He had to steel himself against the sudden gripping in his chest, but she was so damned beautiful it hurt. “What do you mean?”

“You should have been a lawman.”

He watched as understanding that she’d won dawned on her features, and thought that no morning, no glint of sun upon the land, could have been as beautiful. “Thank you.”

Ewen held her gaze for a moment, but then forced himself to turn away with a gruff nod.

Guilt might have given her what she wanted this time, but he wasn’t going to let her manipulate him again. He needed to finish this and get back to the business of winning this war and seeing to his clan’s future. Getting as far away as possible from Sister Genna had become his first priority. To Ewen’s mind, they couldn’t reach Berwick soon enough.