Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

O n entering Bairre's solar, Dahlia was surprised to see it was filled with lighted candles casting a benevolent glow over everything. That is, except for the dark figure of Bairre emerging from the flickering shadows.

As usual he was dressed in all black, from his black shirt and velvet jacket to his woolen trews and knee-high black leather boots. His dark hair had been brushed back and secured by a leather strap at his nape. In the dim light it was almost possible to imagine him as handsome, but as he drew near, his wolfish smile, showing his sharp teeth, dealt a blow to that notion.

He took her hand and she could not resist a shudder as he drew it to his lips. Neither could she resist the contrast with Arran's warm lips on hers only hours ago.

Bairre escorted her to a chair for two situated in an alcove near the fireplace. Beside them on a side table was a vase containing an enormous bunch of roses, filling the air with their fragrance.

"I ken roses are yer favourite flower melady, so I had these chosen especially fer ye."

"I thank ye. Roses are indeed me favorite."

She sat in the loveseat Bairre indicated but, to her horror, he also lowered himself into it beside her, his body pressed uncomfortably close. She edged a few inches to the end of the seat but he filled the small space that opened up between them.

Arran, who had escorted her from her room, remained standing just inside the door, ignored by Bairre. She was tempted to bid him enter and take a seat but was mindful that was most likely Bairre's intention. Another maneuver of his to trick her into betraying her feelings for Arran. She quivered as that thought took hold and the realization dawned that they were both at risk at this moment. All she could do to try and preserve their safety was to try to ignore the presence of Arran's standing figure on the other side of the wide room.

He leaned over and poured two goblets with wine and placed one before her on a small table while raising the other with a grim smile.

"Tae yer health, melady."

She raised the goblet and took a tiny sip, wishing there was some way she could extricate herself from his closeness. His unctuous manner was so great a contrast to his outburst of rage when they'd last been together that she was altogether confused.

He leaned back, one arm stretched along the loveseat behind her, his fingers toying with a wisp of hair at her nape, causing her to squirm with discomfort, a shiver running through her.

"Ye're shivering. Is it nae warm enough in here fer ye?"

She shook her head, gathering her skirt around her, trying to ignore the oily expression of concern on his face. He was doing a good imitation of someone who was genuinely concerned for her welfare.

"Oh, I cannae have ye cold." He leaped to his feet and paced to the fire, stoking the coals and placing to more logs into the flames.

While his back was turned, she ventured a glance at Arran, standing motionless beside the door. Their eyes met for one despairing moment and she could see the suffering written on his features. Whether he was aware of it or not, Bairre had created a special form of torture for them both this evening.

Bairre regained his seat beside her and poured himself another splash of wine.

"I wished us tae enjoy a private meal together this evening in order fer me tae make amends fer me short temper this morning."

"Oh?" Was he expecting her to apologize for her own outburst? Perhaps it would be wise to take the opportunity to do so in the hope that he might lower his guard. Gritting her teeth, she thought it through for a moment, then, pasting on a pretty smile, she looked up at him through her long lashes. "I've given it nay a thought, Bairre. I trust I can also make amends fer the rash words I spoke tae ye."

He patted her hand. "Indeed, yer words were ungrateful and unseemly fer a maid in speaking tae her betrothed. But I am big enough of heart tae be able tae forgive ye. I trust that from now on ye'll maintain decorum and ken yer place as me fiancée."

His words were pleasant enough, but his tone was menacing. He might forgive her as he professed to, but it was clear to Dahlia there was no chance he would forget what had passed between them She shuddered at the prospect of being trapped in marriage to the man, when she would become his property, to do with as he wished.

At that moment the door swung open and a succession of serving-maids entered the room, each of them carrying silver platters of pies and roasted fowl, bowls of soup, stews and elaborate configurations of vegetables. This was far in excess of what the two of them could eat but, no doubt, Bairre wished to demonstrate his wealth and largess in the hope of impressing her.

The meal was laid out on the polished oak table in the center of the room.

Bairre rose to his feet and reached for her hand to escort her to the table. "Come, melady. Join me in this repast the kitchen has prepared in yer honor."

He graciously pulled out the chair for her to sit and waited while the servants served her meal on pewter plates. Already nauseous, she looked in dismay at the array of dishes. She could hardly contemplate tucking into the over-abundance of food being served.

Acutely conscious of Arran's silent figure watching nearby, she tackled a bowl of nettle and leek soup. She was able to tolerate the thin, salty flavor, still only managing a few spoonfuls.

Bairre frowned, and for a moment she thought he was about to launch himself into the same diatribe about women's breasts and buttocks he'd insulted her with this morning. Instead, he gave her a thin smile and, as the maid removed her bowl, he placed a slice of venison pie on a platter and passed it to her.

Every mouthful seemed to catch in her throat, but she slowly managed to finish it. It may have been delicious but once again it tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

Once Bairre had eaten his fill and the maids had taken the untouched portions of the meal back to the kitchen, he escorted her back to the loveseat where, at the table beside the chair, platters of sweetmeats had been left for them.

As they sat, with Bairre once again uncomfortably close, Dahlia was wondering how much longer she could prolong this agonizing evening before she could feign tiredness with a yawn and demand she return to her bedchamber.

He took up one of the tiny cakes and held it to her lips. "Here melady. I ken ye're sweet already but try one of these little honey cakes tae sweeten ye even more."

She reluctantly opened her mouth for him to place it on her tongue. As she swallowed the tidbit he didn't move away. He was sitting uncomfortably close, leaning in, his face looming over hers. She turned her head to the side, avoiding him, but he planted a kiss on her cheek.

Her stomach roiled as she cringed away from him, but he reached up, cupping her chin and forcing her to turn her head back. He lowered his face and covered her mouth with his, snaking his tongue between her lips.

Summoning all her strength, she pushed hard against his chest, shoving him away and springing to her feet, not being able to pretend being docile even a second longer.

"This is too much, me laird. Ye are taking liberties with me." Her chest heaved with fury. "Dinnae ye ken ye should always ask a lady's permission afore ye steal a kiss? We are nae yet wed, and ye have acted with impropriety. Ye have disrespected me."

He was on his feet in a trice. "Me apologies, melady. I find ye irresistible. I trust ye will forgive me boldness and attribute it tae yer own fair beauty."

Dahlia drew herself up to her full height, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. "I will bid ye goodnight. Thank ye fer the pleasant meal."

"Oh dear." He scratched his head. "How can I make up tae ye such a tiresome breach of good manners. Is there something ye desire that I could grant ye?"

She cast a thoughtful gaze over him. He seemed genuinely contrite and mayhap this could be something she could use to her advantage.

"I wish tae take some fresh air. Tae ride out on me mare and feel the rush of wind in me face again. I am sore tired with spending me days in the solar with naught tae gaze on but me sketches and embroidery, feeling like a captive fer the second time in this castle."

He hesitated. "Aye but I'm wise tae yer ploy, Lady Dahlia. Will ye nae make a dash for home if I grant me permission fer ye tae ride?"

"By all the saints. Are ye forgetting ye've placed a guard tae watch me day and night? How could I possibly ride away while he is close behind?" She held her breath, hoping against hope that he would allow her request.

He chuckled. "Why yes. In that case, ye may ride tomorrow with Arran keeping watch on ye. I ken he has a very good reason why he's nae likely tae let ye out of his sight."

"I thank ye." Saying nothing more, Dahlia swirled around and stalked to the door.

Arran leapt forward to open it and she passed through without so much as a glance at him and stalked along the passageway. He followed, keeping a few paces behind her.

She was certain Bairre was watching them both as they strode off.

Still completely disregarding Arran's presence she opened the door of her chamber and stepped inside, leaving it ajar by a few inches. Seconds later he burst through the door, fury flashing in his eyes. He strode across the room and took a seat in one of the chairs by the fireplace, his head in his hands. "I cannae speak," he ground out.

Dahlia stood by, unsure of what to say. He'd been cruelly humiliated by Bairre and she understood some of the torment he must have undergone.

"What is it? What have I done? Ye cannae blame me fer the situation I was in. It was none of me doing. Ye ken I cannae stand the laird."

He slowly rose to his feet. "Dahlia, ye dinnae ken the torture it was fer me tae spend the evening watching that swine lay his hands on ye, even daring tae kiss ye. It took all of me will tae stop me from taking him and strangling him with me bare hands.

I cannae continue like this. Me mind is filled with thoughts of taking ye in me arms and kissing ye the way ye should be kissed. Long and hard. I want tae feel ye close tae me. I want tae breathe in naught but ye sweet smell of roses."

He scrabbled his long fingers through his blonde mane, looking at her with despairing eyes.

"I swear I'm bewitched; I'm so sorely tempted by ye Dahlia MacLeod, there are times when I'm near ready tae sacrifice me maither just so I can hold ye again. Yet I ken that wee bastard Bairre will kill us all if he should discover us."

"It is how I feel too, Arran. I cannae sleep fer thinking thoughts of ye beside me and our kisses. Me body aches fer ye tae hold me again." Tears sprang into her eyes.

He groaned. "Enough. ‘Tis more than me blood can stand. I must leave ye, fer if I remain here, I'll nae last beyond the count of ten before I take ye again."

She laughed softly moving toward him so that she was close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. "Is that so? I'm counting down, one, two, three, four…"

He groaned again as his arms enfolded her in a tight grip. "I've nay strength tae fight ye."

"Well kiss me then, Arran Mackinnon."

They were in each other's' arms faster than a blink. Dahlia turned her face up, eager for his lips. He moaned softly in her mouth as they devoured each other with their kiss. She was oblivious to the world, their passion taking them higher than she had ever imagined could be possible.

She felt his hardness and writhed against him, aching, wanting, seeking something she didn't understand. There was only a driving need to be held in his arms, to feel the pounding of his heart against hers and to stay there forever.

They were jolted apart by a sudden tapping on the door.

"Who is it?" Dahlia called, quickly putting up a hand to tidy her hair. Could it be Bairre? So far, he had not intruded into the privacy of her rooms so she prayed it was someone else at the door.

"'Tis Beattie, melady. I've come tae fold back yer bed and set out yer clothing fer the morning."

Her shoulders slumped in relief, Dahlia made her way across the room while Arran turned his back, staring into the fire. She flung open the door and the little maid entered, bobbing a curtsey.

"I'll be on me way now melady," he said, keeping his voice terse.

"Thank ye, Arran. I appreciate ye escorting me from the laird's solar." She could only hope Beattie was not in the pay of Bairre and that Arran's presence in her room would not come t the attention of the laird.

"Aye. I'll be guarding yer door this night, after I've been tae me chamber and changed me clothing."

"I will see ye early in the morning ready fer our ride."

"Our ride?" He looked puzzled.

"Aye. We're tae ride out in the morning, the laird has agreed."

He grunted and nodded his assent then marched from the room.

Despite being held a prisoner in her room there was consolation in her awareness of Arran during the night, guarding her door.