Chapter Nine
It was late when Teàrlach returned her to Dungarnock, Madeline having silently read the letters out of the reader until the twilight was replaced with darkness. The air grew chilly, but Teàrlach’s ever-steady arms had kept her warm. That and he had withdrawn his MacGregor tartan from King’s saddle pack to drape around her shoulders.
With steady hooves, the beast plodded down the path to the gates. Before reaching them, however, Teàrlach pulled back on the reins. They sat silently. Madeline realized her hip was sore from being wedged against the saddle pommel. Still, she would rather be nowhere else.
He drew his tartan around her more snuggly. He must have felt her shiver and started rubbing a hand up and down her back. Something had changed today. The undercurrent of their affection was now acknowledged. And darn the man, but he had proven to be honorable. Mayhap it had been the celebratory mood, mayhap it had been their mutual fondness, but she had been willing to explore her feelings. She had been willing, she realized, to lie with him in the woods and give herself to him. Something deep down, a voice of her own, or mayhap all her suppressed emotions, had churned to life, like an undertow of a wave as it gained size and momentum heading for shore. Something within was begging for her to speak her mind, act on impulse, and seize life for herself.
For shame, she should feel mortified, acting so wanton. Because it was Teàrlach who had refused to go that far, nay her. It was Teàrlach who had reminded her of her duties to bring her innocence to her marriage. And yet she knew he warred with the same thoughts as she did. She could see clearly in his eyes the veritable tug-of-war yanking his honor and his desire in opposite directions like a stubborn ass pulling on its master’s lead. That tension had remained an undercurrent between them for the rest of the afternoon, even if they were careful not to broach the subject again.
“I’d like to kiss you good night, lass,” he finally said, “though ’twould be unseemly to do so in front of Master Fingal and Greta.” She looked up at him, her vision having adjusted to the darkness. “May I?”
Silly. Him seeking permission for a kiss, after she had so boldly suggested they fornicate in the woods together. Still, she nodded. The formality, she reminded herself, demonstrated that he wasn’t a rogue, which was a fine quality in a man.
Upon her consent, he brushed his palm and fingers over her cheek, cupping the side of her head as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. And by now she knew exactly how to receive the affection. She opened for him as she felt his tongue seek entry, returning the dance with her own tongue, receiving the mark he was making upon her that branded her heart with his name. His hand slid down onto her neck, over her shoulder, down her upper arm, then caressed back up again, when he felt her fingers upon his. She shivered again, but this time, not from the cold.
The kiss continued. Her fingers, however, laced into his, creating a link that extended from her heart, down her left arm, and up his left. She imagined a connection straight to his heart from her own. It was what she felt. That connection. And it would never go away when she married. It would be there, straining to hold onto him the further they parted from each other on that fateful day in July, aching, ripping upon her heart in its dire attempts to hold onto Teàrlach’s memory. She kissed him harder in return. As if she might kiss the pain away that such a thought evoked.
…
God be damned, but he never expected her to embolden their kiss on her own. But she was gripping his hand as if suddenly desperate to cling to him. He indulged her; Lord knew he wouldn’t refuse such an offering. Eejit that he was, he knew with each show of affection, he made his desire for her stronger, when he ought to be severing ties. But he knew he was falling, falling, falling in love so hard it was going to hurt like hell, no, it was going to break him when he hit the bottom and watched her sent away on John’s arm.
As if understanding the timing, they mutually drew apart, though their fingers remained interlocked. “I…” his voice was scratchy, so he cleared it. “I have to leave, Maddie, before I do something regrettable.”
She nodded, noticing a lantern bobbing out of the tower. Her servants were looking for her to return home. Distracted, he glanced at the light, too, then back at her.
“But I’ll see you sennight next. Each Friday, I have leave. I’ll call each Friday until you…” That thought needed no completion. Until she was married off. “I’ll nay rest all bloody sennight until I check on you again. I nay like you being alone here.”
“I’ll be fine. I always am,” she reassured, squeezing his fingers in hers. “Worry nay.”
As if he wouldn’t worry simply because she had commanded it. He wasn’t going to argue with her that she should be angered at Moreville’s neglect. He wasn’t going to start again about how wrong it was that Henry de Moreville had left her so deprived, how it angered him that his employer should think it fine to leave a lady unprotected in the countryside with only a candle a day to use. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and turn King toward the Highlands without looking back, handfast with her, lay that claim she had been willing to give him that afternoon, and start that bucolic life, raising their bairns.
Bloody hell. She had almost clouded his judgment with her innocent question. He had been one thread of honor away from making good on his finest demonstration of loving ever given. He had carried her favor with him since the caber toss, and all knew a lady’s champion needed to be a champion in all things, most of all, loving.
“Keep the gates locked when you have no need to wander out,” he advised. “Keep safe, sweeting,” without me here to protect you, he added, if only to himself, noticing the bobbing of the lantern once more as Fingal hobbled to and fro, beckoning her away from him. “And look for me next Friday morn. I’ll be here as the sun rises.”
She nodded and turned her lips up to him for one more of his kisses. He delivered without hesitation. Surrounded by the nighttime buzzing of insects, he wrapped her within his plaid as she ought to be, he thought. It was only Wednesday today. This kiss would need to last for nine long, miserable days.