Chapter 6

With heavy-lidded eyes, Gavin watched Fiona leave the great hall when the meal ended. 'Twas a struggle to hold the yearning he felt for her tightly in check, but he did. Even as his mind was imagining her clothes being slowly stripped away while his lips kissed the sweet, tender skin as it was revealed.

For the last hour he'd been shifting restlessly in his seat, trying to control his raging desire. His stones were hard and aching, his hands nearly itching to explore and caress Fiona's luscious flesh. Even with his eyes wide open, visions of their bodies joined so tight that naught could separate them haunted him.

It felt as though his loins tightened every time she cast an eye in his direction. Hell, even watching her chew her meal sent a surprising surge of lust through him. Chewing her food!

Christ's bones, he'd lost his mind.

He had known beautiful women in his lifetime—had even bedded a few. But this attraction he felt for Fiona was different somehow—it held a power over him that chased his good sense to the bottom of the loch.

He remembered her beauty and feisty spirit the first time he had seen her—and a feeling of surprise at having such a strong reaction to an unknown woman. He also remembered feeling a twinge of disloyalty for having lustful thoughts for the wife of his friend and ally.

"She's a proud one, our English lady," Duncan commented, as he refilled Gavin's tankard.

"Aye, and a true beauty," Aidan agreed. "Yer the envy of every man in the hall tonight."

Gavin grimaced. He didn't feel confident. He felt unsure. He'd visited alehouses and whorehouses, where the female companionship was experienced, lustful, and plentiful. He had been married twice and each time submitted to a rowdy bedding ceremony, with the male guests and his retainers accompanying him to the bridal chamber amid bawdy comments.

But he had never bedded a mistress within the walls of his own castle, while his household was gathered below, their ears most likely attuned to every sound. It somehow felt base, sordid.

Yet this twinge of conscience in no way diminished the desire he felt, nor lessened his determination to take Fiona to his bed. Damn if he wasn't becoming addled over the lass.

Gavin glanced toward the stairs for the tenth time in as many minutes, then quickly looked away, worried one of his men might have noticed. The last thing he needed was Duncan's jesting or Aidan's sarcastic quips. He was nervous enough.

Ignoring the pointed stares he was receiving from Duncan, Connor, Aidan, and God only knew who else, Gavin casually lifted his tankard.

"Will we not have some singing tonight?" he asked.

"How can it be that ye've got songs on yer mind tonight?" Duncan inquired with a wry expression. "That's the telltale mark of an old codger, wanting to stay with his men drinking and singing instead of joining the bonnie lass who's waiting fer him above stairs, warming his bed."

"An old codger! I'll have ye know I'm a man in my prime," Gavin declared, trying not to smile.

"Yer actions tell a different story," Aidan insisted with a teasing grin.

Gavin gulped down another mouthful of ale and then banged the tankard on the table. "I bested ye on the practice field today," he said smugly. "All three of ye."

Duncan grumbled, while Aidan mumbled something under his breath about getting lucky at catching him off guard.

"Well, that only proves yer not too old for some things," Connor said, smiling like a buffoon. He drained his tankard, then started singing. Before long, the rest of the men joined in.

Hark, hear it now— those ale brewers are turning Arras into Scotland! By St. Andrew, hear it! Good men and good times, cry charity to Holy Mary!

The songs became progressively lecherous as the drink continued to flow, but it provided the distraction that Gavin craved.

It was late when he finally mounted the stairs to his chamber, taking them two at a time. Drawing himself up to his full height, Gavin reached for the door latch, then hesitated. Would Fiona be sitting in his bed, naked and alluring? Or would she be in the small chamber he had assigned her, waiting to be summoned?

He glanced back and forth between the two doors, trying to decide. Going with his gut instinct, he yanked open the heavy wooden door of the smaller chamber.

There was a gasp, followed by an odd little squeak. Fiona stood. Gavin stepped forward. The door closed behind him, leaving him in uncomfortable seclusion with his brand-new mistress.

No candle was lit, only moonlight brightened the room. Still, he could make out the glow of her unbound golden hair, the fine curves of her lush body. He was a man who appreciated beauty in its many forms and Fiona's was special, rare.

She seemed to expect him to say something. Perhaps give her a command? Strip off yer nightclothes, lay on yer back, and open yer legs.

If he said it, she would obey. Like a supplicant before her master, she would do his bidding. Hell, he could rip off her thin nightgown, toss her on the bed and have his way with her and she'd never utter a word of protest. But the idea did neither heat his blood or raise his passion, nor did it give him a heady feeling of power and command. Instead it made him feel like a brutal tyrant.

He was a leader of men, having taken the mantle of leadership of his people as a young man of twenty-three. Dominating, commanding, being in control was as much a part of his nature as it was a fulfillment of his duty.

Yet Gavin had learned as a youth that bed sport was far more enjoyable if both partners participated. With patience and skill he had coaxed a passionate response from his virgin brides. Did his mistress not deserve the same consideration?

"Why are ye standing here in the darkness?" he asked. "I expected to find ye in my chamber."

Her color flared, yet when she spoke, her voice was even. "You gave me no specific instructions. I thought it best to wait here instead of invading your bedchamber."

She was watching him, but nothing in the depths of her emerald-green eyes gave any hint to what she was truly thinking, what she was feeling. She presented a placid facade, but Gavin would wager every gold coin he possessed that her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird.

"We can stay here, if ye like," he offered.

She nodded. Gavin moved closer, deeply conscious of the small space. He inhaled her spicy lavender scent, and a heady warmth encircled him, far more powerful than all the ale he had drunk earlier tonight. The tangle in his gut drew into tight knots. He felt hot. Needy. Primed.

How was he possibly going to keep his lust at bay and not frighten her witless?

He tried a smile. She squinted up at him.

Ah, hell.

He had fantasied about what was hidden beneath the confines of Fiona's simple gown from the moment she had knelt before him in the great hall. Now, at last, was the time to indulge that curiosity.

Gavin stepped between her legs, bringing the full length of Fiona's body flush against his, with only a thin layer of their garments separating them. Groaning, he cupped her lush buttocks, pressing her softness against his stiffening manhood.

She seemed confused, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it. He pulled her closer and she stiffened in his embrace, letting him know she had no true desire for him. The gesture disturbed him. He didn't know why. Or maybe he just didn't want to believe that the object of his intense passion was indifferent to him.

Well, there really was only one way to uncover the truth.

"Ye're trembling. Tell me true, are ye afraid of me, Fiona?"

She turned her head away and his heart sank.

"I don't fear you, my lord. I'm nervous. And worried that I will not please you."

She was lying. Her gaze wouldn't meet his and she worried her bottom lip back and forth between her teeth so rapidly it turned bright red. Dammit! The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.

"Where's the bold lass who offered herself to me so brazenly this afternoon?"

She lifted her chin, a blushing spot of color burning on each cheek. "I am here, my lord. As we agreed."

"Gavin. Call me Gavin." He sighed, then touched a finger to her mouth. "We'll go slowly. Though I cannae promise fer how long."

Wrapping one arm around her back, he tipped her off balance. Her eyes widened as she gazed up into his face. Gavin leaned down and kissed her. He tasted her shock and wondered if she had underestimated her own sexual allure. He molded his mouth to her soft, yielding lips and pressed harder.

She let out a quiet moan, then opened her lips to let him inside, the erotic sensation of her tongue dueling with his igniting a flame deep within him. She tasted faintly of wine—and mint—a lustful, heady combination.

He kissed her again, unprepared for the torment that spread rapidly through him. More. I want more.

He nibbled at the tender spot behind her ear, savoring the sweetness. Everything about her tasted delicious.

Returning to her plump, ruby lips, Gavin ravished her mouth as his hunger grew. For an instant the world seemed to spin away. The taste of her mouth was more intoxicating than the finest French wine. Moving down, he lowered her nightclothes and pressed his mouth to the valley between her breasts, nuzzling that tender spot.

It was torture, but Gavin waited until he felt her body relax and slacken before taking one of the nipples fully into his mouth and twirling it around his tongue.

Fiona moaned, louder this time, and plunged her fingers into his hair. Encouraged, Gavin peeled away the rest of her nightclothes and eased her back on the small, narrow bed. 'Twas impossible to believe the fire coursing through his veins could have flared any hotter, yet when Gavin positioned himself over her and looked down, his control nearly snapped.

She gazed back up at him with hooded eyes, darkened with passion and curiosity. His eyes had adjusted well to the moonlit chamber and he could see the outline of her ample breasts, small waist, and slim hips. He took a moment to study her exquisite form, the sight hardening his already pulsing erection.

"Shall we go a wee bit faster now?" he whispered.

Her hands fisted in his hair, giving him the answer he desired. Gavin dragged in a shaky breath and slipped his hand between her long, shapely legs, gliding down her inner thighs and back up. Her eyes blazed like glowing emeralds, her face flushed a delicate shade of pink, deepening her beauty. Gavin's erotic imagination took flight, making him wonder what she'd look like after spending a carnal night in his bed.

"Ye're so beautiful," he murmured.

Fiona snorted. "There's no need for false flattery. We made a bargain, you and I. I shall freely give you what you seek."

He pulled back. "Ye doubt my words, lass?"

"I . . ." She lowered her chin, averting her eyes. "I am unused to hearing such tender expressions. Henry was the only man who ever called me beautiful."

"Does it pain ye, remembering him?"

"At times. But my memories are mainly joyful and for that I am grateful. And lucky." She tilted her head. "Do you think often of your wife?"

"Wives," he corrected, shrugging sheepishly at her widened eyes. Christ, he sounded like an old lecher, having survived two young wives. "They were both fine lasses. Alas, my marriages were too brief to have many memories at all, joyful or otherwise."

She wrinkled her brow, her expression wry. "How calmly we speak of our past lovers. Is that not cold?"

"Life goes on," he said simply, brushing a long strand of her golden hair away from her eyes.

"As best it can," she said in a sad voice.

Deciding that melancholy had no place in their bed, Gavin brushed his thumb beneath Fiona's chin, tilting her head so he could reach her mouth and kiss her. She murmured something as their lips met and he pressed deeper.

Tentatively she reached out, extending her fingers to touch his chest. Slowly she worked her way across the wide expanse, rubbing in a circular motion with her palm. Gavin felt each tender stroke as it left a burning trail across his covered flesh.

Greedily, he moved his head lower, tonguing her navel, licking the curve of her hip. He playfully rubbed the stubble on his chin against her tender skin. Fiona jumped. Her fingers curled and she restlessly shifted her legs. Gavin smiled in satisfaction. There was fire inside his little English rose—all he need do was set the flint to the dry timber and let the flames engulf them both.

Removing his tunic, he let it fall to the floor, then hastily pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

"Touch me again," he whispered.

Fiona's hands rose up until they rested on Gavin's bare shoulders. Lifting one arm higher, her fingertips lightly raced across his nose and mouth, down his chin and along his throat.

The tender gesture of intimacy made Gavin forget she was doing her job as his mistress. He groaned encouragingly, pressing her legs open with his knee, the blood pounding so loudly in his ears, he swore he could hear it.

The sounds in my head. In my head? Nay!

The loud, almost frantic knock on the chamber door had them both stiffening.

"Milord!"

"Go away," Gavin snarled.

There was only a brief pause before the pounding started again. This time louder and longer.

"Are ye deaf, man?" Gavin shouted. "Leave me be!"

"I cannae," came the quivering voice from the other side of the door. "Duncan says 'tis urgent."

"If this is a prank, then ye best be preparing to meet yer maker," Gavin shouted. He stomped to the door and yanked it open. "What?"

The squire leapt back, almost as if fearing he'd be struck. "They sent me to fetch ye. 'Tis Gilroy. He's raided the grain at Kilmore."

Gavin stiffened, cursing his bastard brother beneath his breath. The knave had the most incredible sense of timing in all of Christendom. Was he never to find a minute's peace from his antics? "Have they caught his trail?"

"Aye. Duncan believes he's heading fer Dunfield's Cross. He knew ye'd want to be told of it straightaway."

"Fine. Ye've done yer duty and told me." The temptation to slam the door and return to Fiona's warm body tore at his gut, but Gavin couldn't resist adding, "If the men take the Sterling pass, they should be able to intercept the raiders."

The young squire nodded eagerly. "That's just what Duncan said they're going to do."

Gavin grimaced. "Have they left?"

"They're gathering in the bailey right now."

Gavin hesitated for a moment and that troubled him. No woman should ever come between him and his duty. Especially an English mistress.

"Call fer my squire and have my horse readied. I'm going with them."

The lad smiled and hurried off. Gavin turned to a silent and still Fiona. She had retrieved her nightgown from the floor and gathered it close to her chest.

"Is there danger?"

"Of a sort. An outlaw who thinks he can raid my villages and frighten my people is once again on the loose. He needs to be taught differently."

"Must you go? Can you not send your men?"

"'Twould be better if I lead them."

He was pleased to see she understood his answer, perhaps even approved of it. It took maturity and a serious regard for a man's leadership position for a female to fully comprehend the notion of duty.

Or else she's simply happy that I'm leaving her alone.

One look at Fiona's rumpled, doe-eyed countenance was all Gavin needed to dispel that disconcerting thought. He took a long, deep breath, struggling to beat back the lusty demands of his body. Once in command of himself, he placed a knee on the bed and leaned forward, looming over her.

"I'll not be gone long. Keep the bed warm. Better yet, move yerself into my chamber and keep that bed warm. 'Tis larger."

Then, giving her hip a hard squeeze, he left.

With a flushed face and a quivering body, Fiona stared at the closed door. Gavin being called away was a stroke of good luck for her, was it not? A close escape from having to pleasure him, to allow him intimate liberties, to experience feelings and emotions that she could not identify.

No man had ever touched her the way Gavin had. Even more shocking was her answering response and the deep feeling of longing for more of the same. When he encircled her within his arms and kissed her, it felt as though her insides were floating.

She was completely unprepared for the strong rush of emotions that invaded her the moment his lips touched hers. There was promise in his caresses. Promise of fulfillment, yes, but promise of compassion and caring. Dangerous emotions for any woman to expose her heart to, but a vulnerability that no mistress could afford.

It should have felt tawdry, allowing a man who was not her husband to take such liberties. Maybe that was what was bothering Fiona most—it hadn't felt wrong. It had been comfortable and natural. It had been glorious and she craved more.

How could that be? She had lived her life striving to do what was good and proper and moral. Her reward from the Almighty for following this path had been the tragic death of her husband, abandonment by her blood relations, and days lived in fear.

The earl had changed it all. Fiona knew it was only temporary, knew she would leave his castle one day, would leave him. But while she stayed, was it so terrible to search for and nurture any bits of pleasure she could find?

Was that really so wrong, so wicked?

She needed to find the courage to ask Father Niall. Her priest and confessor had said nothing about this bargain she had struck with the earl, but she knew he must have an opinion.

Was she ready to hear it?

Fiona sat on the edge of the bed, shook out her crumpled nightgown, and then slipped the garment over her head. The earl had asked her if she was afraid. She had lied and said no. But deep inside Fiona acknowledged the truth. She did fear him. But not in the way he thought. Not physically. She feared the emotions he stirred within her breast, the feelings of promise and hope. She feared she would grow to care for him, and no good would ever come from that situation.

Fiona's mind turned to Henry. Guilt rose up within her like a murky tide. She had never felt this passionate intensity with her husband, had never craved him so completely, longed for him so defiantly.

Henry is dead. For once the thought did not bring the usual well of intense sadness. Instead, Fiona felt a calming acceptance of the reality. There was no need for her to lock away the memory of her love for her dead husband. 'Twas better to recall the joy of life and living, to remember what it felt like to love and trust a man.

Henry's death had taken so much away from her, but it had also given her the strength to move forward, to admit that a part of her hoped to one day find the love of a good man. It felt honest acknowledging these feelings, for they would help protect her. From Gavin. She had agreed to be his mistress and she would uphold her part of the agreement. She would be sweet and accommodating and giving. She would do all that he asked of her—and gladly.

But, she would exercise prudence and self-preservation. She would not fall prey to the earl's charms. For that road most assuredly led to heartbreak and despair.

Gavin was awake. He shifted restlessly to his side and pulled the edge of his cloak to his chin. The hard dirt dug into his hip and shoulder, but he knew it was useless to try and find a comfortable position sleeping on the forest ground.

Grunting beneath his breath, Gavin stared out into the thickening woods ahead. The canopy of tree leaves hid the moon and most of the stars, yet he could still make out the silhouette of the man posted on watch.

Closing his eyes, Gavin adjusted his head on the log he was using as a pillow and once again tried to sleep, hoping the rustle of leaves and the creak of the windblown trees might lull him into an hour or two of slumber. But the rumbling sound of the men snoring around him and the hoots and growls of the woodland creatures inhabiting these woods made sleep impossible.

That, and the thoughts running through his mind. When dawn broke, it would be up to him to decide if they would continue the pursuit or make their way back to the castle. Without capturing Gilroy.

They had tracked the outlaws to Dunfield's Cross, only to discover Gilroy and his men had already come and gone. Discouraged by the now-cold trail, they had ridden another ten miles before making camp. Gavin knew patience was required to vanquish an enemy. Following that creed had proven successful in the past with many of his foes. But in the case of his bastard half brother, Gavin's patience was gone. He was tired of playing games.

Abandoning the pretense of sleep, Gavin stood. I might as well relieve the soldier keeping watch. Mayhap that poor sod can get a few hours of rest. Gavin took a step, then froze at the faint sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Shifting his feet to see through the thick tree leaves, he squinted up at the night sky, surprised to see twinkling stars dotting the blackness.

No storm would be coming on a clear night. Then why the thunder? Gavin turned at the exact moment a spine-chilling war cry shattered the stillness of the night. A line of men on horseback burst out of the underbrush. Swords drawn, they charged the camp.

"To arms!" Gavin roared. "'Tis Gilroy!"

The camp erupted in confusion. Men shouted and cursed and scrambled to find their weapons in the darkness. The ringing of steel on steel soon filled the night.

A rider charged Gavin just as he reached for his sword. He leapt to his right and the warrior swung ineffectively into thin air. Heavy sword clasped between both hands, Gavin pivoted around and slashed his foe in the leg, striking nearly to the bone. The man screamed and fell to the ground while his riderless horse disappeared into the woods.

The night air thickened with the energy of battle. Swords clashed and arrows flew, as each side fought for dominance. Gavin fought his way into the center of the fray, his mobility hampered by the darkness, his determination increasing with each swing of his sword.

It ends here and now!

A body hit the ground next to him, coming so close it brushed against Gavin's boot as it fell. Gavin glanced down briefly, noting the arrow protruding from the man's chest, then felt a stab of relief when he saw it was not one of his soldiers.

Realizing they were outnumbered, and the tide of the skirmish was turning against them, Gilroy and his men fled into the dense forest.

Gavin watched them retreat, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Ignoring the bodies strewn on the hard ground, he faced Aidan. "Did we lose any men?"

"Nay. We sustained some gashes and bruises, but these bodies are Gilroy's minions."

Using his foot, Connor rolled one of the prone men onto his back. A single shard of moonlight bathed the corpse in a ghastly glow. Blood seeped from the gash across the man's chest and pooled onto the soil, making it slippery.

"I dinnae recognize him," Duncan said, bending low to peer closely at the man's features.

"I'm not surprised," Aidan said. "Outlaws and brigands are the only kind of men who would follow Gilroy and ye don't know many of them."

"They can fight," Connor said. "I'll give them that."

"Not as well as they die." Gavin felt the intensity of his emotions blazing in his chest and knew he needed to ignore them. Calm, steady, controlled. 'Twas the only way he would win this contest.

"There were at least two dozen of them that attacked us," Aidan said, as he wiped the bloodied end of his sword on a nearby bush and carefully sheathed the weapon back in its scabbard.

"Did anyone see which way they went?" Connor asked.

"They scattered like leaves in the wind," Aidan replied.

"North," Duncan said with confidence.

"Leave one man to care fer our wounded and bury these bodies," Gavin commanded. "The rest of ye mount up. We ride north."

The constant sound of a ringing church bell startled Fiona awake. Rubbing her eyes, she tried taking in her surroundings, but it was too dark to see much. 'Tis not yet dawn. Why do they rise so early?

Shaking her sleep-clouded head, Fiona reached out and fingered the unfamiliar heavy bed curtains, realizing they were the reason for the dimness surrounding her.

Cautiously she pulled them back and a shaft of daylight caressed the length of her bare leg. Opening the fabric a fraction wider, she peeked out and peered about the room.

It was empty. Gavin was nowhere to be seen. Actually, judging by the neatness of the chamber, it appeared that he had not returned last night. She probably should not have heeded his command and slept in his chamber, but her mind had been occupied and in the end it seemed easier to obey.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Fiona froze, hoping it meant the household was answering the toll of the bells and going to Mass. But one pair of feet did stop, opening the chamber door and entering without a knock.

Fiona wasn't certain who was more surprised—her or the female servant who entered.

"Glory be, what are ye doing in here?" the woman asked as her disapproving gaze swept Fiona from mussed hair to bare toes.

Fiona smiled mysteriously. She was not about to explain herself to this sour-faced servant. "Has the earl returned?"

The servant propped her hands on her hips and assumed an indignant air. "And why would ye be needing to know that?"

Deciding it was too early in the morning to be answering questions, Fiona sprung from the bed. She stalked out of the chamber and returned to her own and found Alice waiting for her.

"A group of wounded men arrived in the bailey not a half hour past," Alice reported in a rushed whisper. "I heard two squires speaking of it when I went to the kitchen to fetch some food for you to break your fast."

"What of the earl? Was he injured?"

"I don't believe he was hurt. Apparently, they were set upon by a man the squires called Gilroy and his band of brigands, but the earl and his men fought off the attack."

"Where is he now?"

"Giving chase. The squires were arguing over whether he would take Gilroy prisoner or kill him the moment he was captured."

Fiona shuddered. As much as she understood the need to vanquish one's enemies, killing always left a bitter taste. "From what I understand, this Gilroy is a fierce fighter, an enemy of long standing."

"Oh, my lady, there is more to this sordid tale." Alice took a deep breath, then blurted out, "Gilroy is the earl's brother."

"What?"

" 'Tis true." Alice's head bobbed enthusiastically. "He's his half brother. His bastard brother."

"Truly?"

"Yes. They share the same sire, and according to the squires, much of the same tenacity. They spoke almost with admiration as they declared he might call himself Gilroy, but he was a McLendon through and through."

"That is indeed a peculiar way of referring to one's enemies," Fiona agreed. She selected a simple, formfitting green kirtle with tapered sleeves, a full skirt, and a short train, and Alice assisted her into the garments.

"'Tis only one of the many things I don't understand about these people," Alice commented, as she tied the silk ribbons across the bodice of Fiona's gown.

The maid efficiently brushed, then plaited and pinned Fiona's hair on the top of her head. She added a delicate pure white veil and over that placed a gold circlet mitre to keep it in place.

Feeling better prepared to face the others, Fiona turned to Alice. "We might not understand these people, but that is no excuse for neglecting our devotions. I shall attend Mass this morning and pray for the safety of the earl and his men."

Alice's mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "Prayers for the earl are all well and good, but I think it would be wise if you asked the good Lord for some help for yourself, Lady Fiona. I fear you're the one who'll be needing it more."