The Guardian Page 10
Her statement calmed him a bit. Sìleas wouldn’t lie to him.
“Ye should mind how it looks when ye go about with other men,” he said. “I won’t be made a fool of.”
Sìleas sputtered what might have been curses but was lost in the wind. When he reached for her hand, she kicked him in the shin. He stood dumbfounded as she turned and ran up the beach to the path above.
Ian looked to his cousin, expecting commiseration—and the apology he was owed.
“What in the name of heaven is wrong with ye?” Alex said, raising his hands in the air. “Did ye have to yell at her?”
“Me? You’re blaming me for this?”
“Accuse me of anything ye like,” Alex said, with a hard edge to his voice. “But there’s no excuse for insulting Sìleas.”
“I hope you’re telling me that nothing happened between ye out there,” Ian said, clenching his fists.
“I was out there doing my best to persuade her that ye are not the idget that ye are. You’ve somehow managed, in spite of yourself, to get the perfect wife, and now ye seem to be doing all ye can to lose her.”
Alex, who was usually hard to rile, was pacing back and forth and gesturing with his hands as he ranted.
“Sìleas is not just lovely, but she’s sensible and kind as well,” Alex said. “Adding to this miracle, your family adores the lass.”
“I’ve told her I want her,” Ian said. “What more does she want from me?”
“Why have ye done nothing to make amends to her?” Alex said, spreading his arms wide. “Would it be so hard to show her that ye admire her, that ye care for her? I tell ye, I’m disgusted with ye.”
With that, Alex turned and left Ian alone on the beach staring after him. He was still standing there when the heavens opened up and drenched him.
CHAPTER 11
Sìleas sat at the small table in her bedchamber with her letter to the now-dead King James and a clean sheet of parchment before her. How did one address a letter to a widowed queen who was also Regent? She brushed the feather of her quill against her cheek as she considered the question.
To Her Highness,
That should suffice. She bit her lip as she copied the rest of her original letter. It annoyed her that she had Ian to thank for the skill. Did she have no pleasant memories from her childhood that did not involve him?
Her mother had never been well long enough to teach her to write, and it wouldn’t have crossed her father’s mind to hire a tutor for her. When it was apparent that no one else would teach her, Ian did. For a boy who never liked to sit, he had been diligent, spending hours with her. The result was that while she did not have an elegant, feminine hand, she was a slow but competent writer.
She smudged the ink and had to start over on a clean sheet of parchment. When she finished, she blew on the letter and read it over again. It would do.
The problem now was how to get it delivered to the queen at Stirling Castle.
She started at the sound of a rap on her door and shoved the letters under the sheaf of accounts stacked on the table. “Who is it?” she called out.
Ian stuck his head through the door.
He gave her a smile that raised her heartbeat. Why did he have this effect on her? She had avoided him since yesterday—no small task when they were living under the same roof—because she feared seeing him would weaken her resolve.
“May I come in?”
When she failed to summon an answer, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Her cheeks flamed hot as she remembered her letter. She felt a pang of guilt for not telling him she was seeking royal assistance to annul their marriage—and stifled it.
“I promise, I won’t shout at ye. And I won’t touch ye…” Ian’s voice trailed off as his gaze slid over her, as if he were remembering every part of her he’d had his hands on two nights before. “… unless ye want me to.”
She could not get enough air. With his dark hair falling over one eye and the shadow of beard over his strong jaw, Ian looked rough and dangerously handsome.
He drew his brows together. “I wouldn’t hurt ye. Surely ye know that?”
He would. He already had.
Ian’s gaze drifted around the room. “You’ve made it nice in here.” He sniffed and the corners of his mouth tipped up. “Smells much better than when I slept here as a lad. It used to smell of dogs and horses—and me, I suppose.”
She remembered waking to the smell of him when he crawled into bed with her. The scent had lingered faintly in her bed, giving her a restless night.
She swallowed as Ian’s gaze fell on the bed and remained there for a long moment.
“I came to ask ye about the accounts ye showed me,” he said, bringing his gaze back to her.
How did a man get such blue eyes?
“I’m sure my da didn’t record such things, though perhaps one of the men working for him did,” Ian said. “So, you’ll have to teach me.”
She raised her eyebrows, since he had paid no attention the first time she tried to show him.
He lifted the stool that was against the wall with one hand, set it next to her, and sat down in one easy motion. The man moved as she imagined a lion would, all grace and rippling muscle.
She jumped when he scooted his stool closer.
As he reached across her for the pile of parchments, his arm and shoulder pressed against hers, sending heat radiating through her body. “Now let’s have a look at these.”
She awoke from her daze and grabbed the stack away from him.
“These are in order!” she said, her voice coming out high and squeaky.
He gave her an amused look, blue eyes sparkling, and raised an eyebrow.
To cover her embarrassment, she began explaining her method of keeping track of the farm’s livestock. “Ye see, I mark all the new calves here—”
He touched her hand, and the words dried in her mouth.
“Ye were always better at figures than me, Sìl.”
“Only because ye lack patience.” She attempted a severe look, though, despite herself, her heart swelled with the compliment.
“Impatience is a failing of mine.” Ian gave her a slow smile as he dragged his finger up her forearm. “A failing I’m trying verra hard to cure.”
She swallowed. “I know what ye are trying to do.”
“Do ye now?” He brushed a stray curl from her cheek, sending a shiver all the way to her fingertips and toes.
“You’re trying to seduce me.”
“We should each do what we’re good at,” he said, his eyes glimmering. Without shifting his gaze from her face, he waved his hand toward the parchments. “You’re good with figures, so ye should keep doing that.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she would not be here to do it, but stopped herself. Ian was set on doing his duty to his family and clan, and he had decided that duty included making her his true wife. It was best, then, that he not know she was making other plans.
“And what are you good at?” she asked instead.
“Just as ye say,” he said, leaning closer, his even white teeth gleaming. “Seducing my wife.”
She felt herself blush to her roots. “I’m no your wife.”
“But ye are,” he said.
“Ye did not claim me for five years.”
He slid a hand beneath her hair and cupped the back of her neck as he leaned toward her. “Well, I’m claiming ye now.”
The saints protect her, Ian was going to kiss her. The memory of waking to his kisses sent an unfamiliar rush of desire through her. His lids were half lowered over eyes that held a molten heat like the blue in a hot fire. She felt herself leaning toward him, like a moth flying into the flame.
His kiss was soft and sensuous, caressing her lips with a tantalizing suggestion of all that a kiss could be. When he drew away, she followed him. He smiled against her lips, then ran his tongue lightly over her bottom lip. How could that small movement fill her with such a powerful yearning? She g
ripped the front of his linen shirt in her fists to steady herself.
He made a sound deep in his throat that she felt more than heard. When he pressed his mouth to hers this time, it wasn’t a teasing brush of lips but a kiss that sent the blood pounding through her veins. She felt his heart beating beneath her hands as he pulled her against him.
Her own heart pounded in her ears as he deepened the kiss. She didn’t remember opening her mouth to him, but their tongues were moving together in a rhythm that resonated deep inside her. She felt a growing urgency in him that was both frightening and exhilarating.
His fingers were buried in her hair, and his body was taut with the same tension that ran through hers. As he ran hot, wet kisses beneath her ear and down the side of her throat, she cupped his jaw with her hand. The rough day’s growth of beard tickled the sensitive skin of her palm and sent shivers of pleasure up her arm.
She loved his face. Touching it now made her realize that she had been longing to hold it in her hands since the first night he returned.
She sucked in a shaky breath as he worked his way along the top of her bodice with his mouth. Now. She should stop him now.
But she was hungry for a man’s touch. For this man’s touch. For Ian.
She stopped breathing as he slowly slid his tongue over the curve of her breast. It was as if Ian read her body, for no sooner was she aware of a low ache between her legs than he made it worse by resting a warm, heavy hand on her thigh. When she made a sound at the back of her throat, he lifted his head to capture her mouth again.
She was light-headed, drowning in his kisses. How long they kissed she could never have said. When he pulled away, she became aware of his hand moving up her thigh and his breath hot in her ear.
“We need to move to the bed,” he said, his voice rough with longing, and she wanted to go wherever he was taking her. “I don’t want to make love to ye the first time in a chair.”
Putting to words where this was headed finally brought her to her senses.
“No,” she said, pushing him away.
He dropped his forehead on her shoulder. “Sìl, don’t say no,” he said, sounding as if he were in pain. “Please.”
The room had become sweltering, and the only sound was their harsh breathing.
“I want ye something fierce.” Though he didn’t touch her except where his forehead rested on her shoulder, the air vibrated with the tension between them.
“I said no.” She didn’t try to push him away again, for fear that if she touched him she could not make herself let go again.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Whatever ye say,” he whispered, then he leaned back on his stool. “But will ye tell me why?”
The heat in his gaze burned her skin. She bit her lip but wouldn’t answer.
“Ye can’t tell me ye don’t like it when I kiss ye,” he said, his voice rich like honey on her tongue. “Or that ye don’t like the way I touch ye, because I can tell ye do.”
His words sent another wave of heat through her.
“I believe ye would enjoy… the rest.”
Oh, aye. She used to wonder if she would enjoy marital relations, but now she was quite certain she would—at least, she would if it were with Ian. Her heart was still pounding as if she’d run a race.
He ran a finger lightly up her arm, sending another bolt of heat low in her belly. “Is there something that worries ye? Something you’re afraid of?”
There was, but she wasn’t telling him.
“Ye might fear it will hurt the first time I bed ye,” he said, “but I’m thinking it’s something else that is holding ye back.”
She swallowed, wondering how he had guessed.
“I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Ian sounded sincere, as best she could tell through the pounding in her ears. But she wasn’t going to tell him. She had decided that she needed more from him than desire. Yet that wasn’t what stopped her tonight. In truth, when he was kissing her like that, his lack of love and devotion couldn’t have been further from her mind.
No, it was a different fear that had brought her back to her senses and given her the strength to bring a halt to what they both wanted.
“Ye used to trust me,” he said, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb across the heel of her palm.
There was a time she would have told him anything. But not now.
Nothing could make her admit that what she feared was seeing the fire in his eyes cool when he saw her naked. In her ignorance, she used to think it would be possible to keep her clothes on when her husband took her to bed. But from the determined way Ian set about trying to get them off her, that seemed unlikely.
Most unlikely.
If he loved her, she might not be afraid to let him see her. If she didn’t love him so much, it might not matter to her.
“Ye were fearless as a child,” he said, his eyes softening with his smile. “Truth be told, ye used to scare me sometimes. It almost seemed as if ye got yourself into trouble just so I would have to save ye.”
“It’s true, I did.” She choked on the words; it was a hard thing to admit. “I trusted ye utterly. But I don’t trust ye now.”
She saw the flash of hurt in his eyes before he pressed his lips together and nodded. Her mouth grew dry as the tense silence between them lengthened.
“I failed my family and my clan by not being home when I was needed. I want to make amends, to make things right, if I can,” Ian said. “I want to be your husband—not just to have ye in my bed, though I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of it. But I promise I’ll try to be the kind of husband ye deserve.”
Sìleas felt herself weakening, but one pretty speech should not be enough to make her forgive the years of neglect nor the hurt he’d caused her since coming home.
“What about what I want?” she asked with a quaver in her voice.
“I thought this was what ye wanted. You’ve been happy living here with my family.” He leaned forward and gave her a soft smile. “And ye used to like me quite a lot.”
What he didn’t say, but they both knew, was that Ian had been the person she loved best in the world. And damn it, judging by how much her heart hurt, it was still true.
“I don’t want ye to be my husband because ye were forced to do it.” She swallowed and fixed her gaze on her hands in her lap. “Or because the clan needs my lands. Or because your mother is verra fond of me.”
“I’m fond of ye as well.” He reached out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, but she pulled away.
“I don’t want ye to be my husband because ye think I need protecting or because ye feel sorry for me,” she continued. “Or because ye don’t like to do figures yourself.”
“I can promise ye, I’d want ye even if ye couldn’t do figures,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. When she looked up, he gave her a sizzling look that made her stomach tighten. “I do want ye, Sìl.”
She took her hand from his and got to her feet.
All the reasons he wanted her might be enough if he were any other man. But they were not enough from Ian. She would not spend her life with a man, pining for her love to be returned.
She made herself walk out the door and close it behind her.
CHAPTER 12
Ian heard his father’s raised voice as he opened the front door to the house.
“Look at what ye done to me!” Payton was shouting at Niall, who was trying to help him across the room. “Ye should have let me die like a man.”
Sìleas stood on his father’s other side, coaxing him forward. “It will be lovely to have ye take your meals with the family again.”
“Will ye no come sit at the table, da?” Niall said.
The instant his father began to raise his cane to strike Niall, Ian started across the room, but Sìleas was closer. His heart stopped when she stepped between the two men.
“Don’t ye dare touch him!” Sìleas shouted.
When his father checked the blow in time, Ian breathed again. His father still had the arms and shoulders of a powerful man. God in Heaven, he could have killed her.
Niall walked past Ian and out the front door without even seeing him. Sìleas locked gazes with his father, going nose to nose with him—or she would have, if she were taller. Neither appeared to take any notice of Ian’s presence or the slamming door.
“If ye speak that way to Niall again, I swear I’ll not forgive ye,” Sìleas said. Her chest rose and fell in deep breaths as she and his father glared at each other.
“He should have let me die on the battlefield,” his father said. “He took away my manhood, bringing me home like this.”
She spoke in a slow, deliberate voice, and there was steel in her eyes. “Ye ought to be grateful to have such a son, after what he did for ye.”
“Grateful? Look at me!” his father shouted, pointing at his missing leg.
“Shame on ye, Payton MacDonald, for wishing you could desert your family,” she said. “ ’Tis long past time ye stopped feeling sorry for yourself.”
She turned on her heel, her hair swinging out like a shooting flame, and stormed out of the house.
His father hobbled to the nearest chair, dropped onto it with a thump, and rubbed his hands over his face. Ian got the whiskey down from the cupboard and filled a cup.
“Here ye go, da,” he said, as he set the cup on the table next to his father. He started to put the bottle back, then set it on the table as well.
His father clenched the cup as if holding a lifeline and stared at the wall.
“I’d best see to Niall,” Ian said.
His father nodded without turning to look at him. “Do that, son.”
It was raining buckets, so Ian hoped Niall hadn’t gone far. He tried the old cottage first—and found Alex and Dina in the midst of enjoying the ways of the flesh. They didn’t notice him. From there, he splashed through puddles to the byre.
The smell of cows and damp straw filled his nostrils as he peered into the dim, musty interior. He paused and listened. Behind the sound of the pounding rain, he heard the murmur of voices and followed it to the back of the byre, where he found Niall and Sìleas sitting side by side on a pile of straw between two cows. They didn’t hear him approach.