Chapter 14

Isabella, Countess of Strathearn and Caithness, rushed past Sorcha and Hugo to Isobel's litter, demanding to see her grandson.

"Sidony cannot have told her, since she does not know the wee laddie exists," Sorcha said to Hugo. "You must have sent a message here, as well."

"I'm no fool, lass," he said. "I sent it when I sent men to meet Michael. I had to let her know about the birth of her grandson and that Isobel was with me. She'd have handed me my head in my lap had I done aught else."

"Aye, sure," Sorcha agreed, eyeing the countess warily.

But Isabella had eyes only for her grandson. She took the baby gently from Isobel's arms and gestured to several menservants who had followed her outside.

Ordering them to carry Isobel on her litter to her bedchamber, she said to her affectionately, "I ordered a fire to warm your room as soon as I received Hugo's message, and my Martha will see that you both have a wash and fresh clothing. Then you can enjoy your supper in quiet comfort, for you will want to rest well before Michael comes."

"Thank you, madam," Isobel said with a smile. "He'll come soon, I think."

"Aye, he'll waste no time," the countess said. Then, turning to Hugo, she said, "Do you mean to sit there on that horse until he does, sir?"

"No, madam, certainly not," he said as he swiftly dismounted and made his bow to her. "I did not want to interrupt your reunion."

Returning the baby to Isobel's arms as four men picked up the litter to carry her into the keep, Isabella turned back to Hugo, acknowledging Sorcha's presence with a flickering glance. As he moved to lift her down from her horse, Isabella said dryly, "I warrant you have news for me."

"Aye, madam, but first allow me to present to you Isobel's sister, the lady Sorcha Macleod. Make your curtsy, lass," he added.

As if, Sorcha thought with annoyance, she were twelve and backward in her manners. Determined to show that, shabby clothing or not, her manners were excellent, she obeyed him with her head high. Smiling politely, she said, "I am honored to make your acquaintance, madam."

"I own, your presence here stirs my curiosity," Isabella said as Sorcha arose from her curtsy. With a twinkle, she added, "Where came you by that awful dress?"

"Hugo made me wear it," Sorcha said, casting that gentleman a black look.

"I could hardly allow the two of them to ride here in the garments they wore to his grace's installation," Hugo said. "Or in the disreputable rags they wore when I found them trying to masquerade as lads near Dail Righ village."

"I see," Isabella said, gazing thoughtfully at him for a moment before she added decisively, "I look forward to hearing the whole tale. Sidony has not been entirely forthcoming, you see. She seems worried that you would not want her to tell me about it, Sorcha, but nearly certain that Hugo would. An indecisive child but otherwise quite unexceptionable. You were right to send her to me, Hugo."

"You relieve my mind, madam," he replied with a teasing smile. "I was afraid you would be furious."

"Impertinence is never becoming, sir, but I do see that you have had your hands full. Let us go inside. I'll wager that you are starving for your supper and that Sorcha will welcome a wash and change of clothing as much as Isobel will. She can attend to that before we eat—no disreputable leggings, though," she added firmly.

"No, madam, certainly not," Sorcha replied, deciding that the countess was not nearly as formidable as Hugo had described her.

An hour later, she was not so sure.

In the meantime, Isabella had provided her with a comfortable bedchamber all to herself, clothing from Isobel's wardrobe, and warm, scented water to wash the worst of the dirt away. She had also sent up her seamstress at once to begin altering a few of Isobel's garments to fit Sorcha's slimmer body.

Accompanying the seamstress, Sidony flung herself into Sorcha's arms, burst into tears, and sobbed, "I was terrified! Sir Hugo was so furious! I feared if the horrid men who hurt Rory did not murder you, he would. Oh, I do hope you are not angry that I told him. But whatever were you thinking to do such a frightful thing?"

"Hush now," Sorcha said, gently extricating herself, all too aware of the fascinated seamstress. "I'm safe now, and we'll tell you all about it presently. Have you seen the bairn?" she added as she moved to make use of the ewer and basin.

"Aye," Sidony said. "I went to see Isobel first, because I could not otherwise have believed she was here. He is beautiful. But she would tell me only that men she thinks must have been in league with Waldron had—What?" she added in bewildered tones when Sorcha turned with a finger over her lips.

"We'll talk about it later," Sorcha said firmly. "Countess Isabella said they will serve supper soon. Are you ready to go downstairs?"

"Aye, sure, and my room is across the way if I need anything. Is this not pretty?" she added, showing off the pale-blue kirtle and the sideless, embroidered yellow surcoat she wore over it. "It is Isobel's," she added. "The countess told me to choose anything of hers to wear. I thought perhaps Isobel would not quite like it, but she said of course I should borrow whatever I need. Was that not kind of her?"

"Very kind, but you should have known she would not mind," Sorcha said. "You would be just as generous if she were the one in need."

"Aye, but all the same, one dislikes taking things without asking."

Sorcha knew she was tired but thought her sister's conversation even more tedious than usual. Taking herself sternly to task for the uncharitable thought, she nonetheless looked forward to seeing Hugo and the countess again at supper. His conversation would always be stimulating, and Isabella intrigued her as well.

With Sidony's help and that of the seamstress, Sorcha was soon ready. With her raggedly cut curls confined in a gold net under a simple veil, she could feel confident that she looked well in the crimson-and-black-striped silk kirtle that Isobel had lent her. Fastening matching crimson silk slippers on her feet and a narrow girdle of gold links low on her hips, she pronounced herself ready for supper.

Not seeing Hugo among those gathering in the great hall when they entered, she felt a pang of disappointment. But Isabella stood warming her hands by the upper hall's stone fireplace in the east wall near the dais.

"Hugo will return shortly," she said as Sorcha and Sidony joined her. Without pause, she added, "I thought at first, and despite your dreadful clothes, that you must have traveled with Isobel. I feared, you see, that she had defied Michael and somehow managed to leave Lochbuie on her own. But since that is not what happened, how ever did the two of you contrive to meet Hugo at Dail Righ?"

Sidony nibbled her lower lip. Sorcha hesitated, too, trying to think what to say, but she abandoned the effort at the sound of Hugo's voice behind her, and turned with mixed relief and trepidation to greet him.

"Quizzing our guests already, madam?" he said with a smile. "Shall we take our seats first and tell the lads to put up the privy screens?"

"Aye, it might be better so," Isabella agreed. Striding onto the dais, she summoned a gillie and relayed the command.

Then, taking her seat in one of two armchairs near the fireplace end of the high table, and directing Sorcha and Sidony to a pair of back-stools opposite her on the long side facing the end wall, she said, "Take Michael's chair, Hugo. I doubt that he can get here before tomorrow evening."

"Aye," Hugo agreed as he obeyed. "The intent is for his grace's flotilla to land at Dumbarton tonight, put up at the castle, and form a mounted cavalcade in the morning after kirk. The lads should meet them with my message around midday near Glasgow. But even if Michael leaves the others behind and presses hard, he's unlikely to get here before Vespers."

"Or later," Isabella said. Nodding to the gillie poised to fill her goblet, she said to Sorcha, "Now, tell me all about your adventures and how you met Hugo."

Hugo said dampingly, "Pray, madam, do not encourage her to think that what she did was aught but foolhardy."

"Nonsense, 'twas a daring feat!" the countess retorted, smiling at Sorcha.

Thus encouraged but avoiding Hugo's gaze, Sorcha said with a confiding smile to the countess, "You see, I had reason to believe that my sister Adela would be unhappy in the marriage our father had arranged for her, and so—"

"Why?" Isabella interjected. "Is the proposed bridegroom so dreadful?"

"He is much older and very dull," Sorcha said, but the interruption had given her time to realize where her explanation must lead. She could not be confident that Isabella would understand about her messages to Hugo, nor did she want to bring up his responsibility, or anyone else's, for what had happened.

Therefore, when Isabella agreed that marriage to a very old, very dull man should be avoided, Sorcha said glibly, "That is what we thought, so when someone snatched Adela from the kirk steps and rode away with her, everyone thought it was someone she wanted to marry who had come for her."

Isabella peered shrewdly at her but said only, "Indeed?"

"Aye," Sorcha said, her confidence abruptly ebbing. "Only… only then we learned that was not what had happened."

"And how did you learn that?" Isabella asked.

Sorcha glanced at Hugo.

"Aye, lass," he said. "Explain that. But first you might take some meat from that platter Ivor is holding for you. The rest of us would like some, too."

Startled to think she had been unaware of the gillie beside her, she used her eating knife to serve herself two pieces of roast lamb from the platter. A bowl of chopped cabbage with small roasted onions came next, and since vegetables other than nettle soup in springtime were a rare luxury at Chalamine due to the poor Highland soil, she took a generous spoonful of cabbage, too.

Isabella waited patiently, but when Sorcha still hesitated, Hugo said, "You disappoint me, lass. Where is your customary candor? You've made no secret before now of where you lay the blame for your sister's abduction."

Sidony made a small squeak of protest, but although Isabella glanced at her, no one else did, and she did not speak.

Collecting her wits, Sorcha said, "Sir Hugo is right, madam. I did blame him, and he bears some responsibility for what happened. But I'm the one who behaved badly when we met." To Hugo, she said, "For that, I do apologize to you, sir."

"Do you, Skelpie?"

A smile touched his lips, but why the unusual warmth in his voice or that smile should stir a prickling in her eyes, she could not have said. To counter what felt ominously like welling tears, she turned back to the countess and said quickly and with her customary frankness, "I slapped his face as hard as I could, madam."

"Doubtless a salutary lesson for him," Isabella said, regarding Hugo now rather enigmatically. "This incident occurred at Dail Righ, did it?"

"It occurred at Kildonan in view of the whole throng at his grace's installation," Hugo said. "I wore the wee skelpie's handprint on my cheek for some time afterward. In truth, though," he added, looking at Sorcha, "I deserved it."

"Salutary indeed, then," Isabella said. "But I'd like to know how you came to think Hugo could so far forget himself as to abduct a bride from her wedding."

When Sorcha glanced at him again, he chuckled. "She believed it because she had sent messages to me herself to suggest that I should."

"Nay, then," Sidony said indignantly. "She did not say that."

"As near as made no difference," he insisted.

"She sent a message to you?"

The emphatic surprise in Isabella's voice made Sorcha wince, but Hugo said, "She did, and fool that I was, I did not bother to reply to such impertinence."

"That was not well done of you, Hugo," Isabella said severely. "Moreover, sir, if she believed so strongly that you cared about her sister, you must have given someone the notion that you did. As I recall, last summer you flirted shamefully with Lady Adela at Orkney."

Isabella's tone, added to Hugo's instantly sober expression, reminded Sorcha of his description of his aunt, and her wariness returned in full measure.

Sidony, clearly abashed by her own impulsive comment, fixed her attention on her trencher as Hugo and the countess continued to gaze intently at each other.

He, just as clearly, seemed reluctant to defend himself, and Sorcha could think of nothing to say that would not make matters worse.

Breaking the silence at last, Isabella said, "Hugo?"

The quiet way she said it raised hairs on Sorcha's neck, but Hugo nodded.

"I don't deny that I behaved badly, Aunt Isabella," he said, "or that I richly deserved Lady Sorcha's anger, although I did not think so at the time. But she—"

When he broke off, cocking his head to listen, Sorcha realized that the general din had increased significantly in the lower hall, where servants of the household and Hugo's men were taking their supper at long trestle tables.

Exchanging a look with the countess, who smiled ruefully at him, Hugo rose and strode to the end of the privy screen as an older man stepped onto the dais there.

Seeing the two together, Sorcha had no doubt who the newcomer must be.

Hugo exclaimed, "Sir! Where did you spring from?"

"Dunclathy, of course," the other said, clapping him hard on the shoulder and pulling him into a rough hug. "I reached Hawthornden yestereve, and your aunt sent word to me there as soon as she learned of your anticipated arrival."

"I'm glad to see you," Hugo said. "I expected you to stay at Henry's house in Edinburgh at least until MacDonald, Michael, and the others arrived in town."

With a twinkle that reminded Sorcha of the one she often saw in Hugo's eyes, the older man said, "I'll wager that Michael will come directly here, too."

"He will if he wants to see his heir," Hugo agreed. "But, come, sir, I must make known to you the ladies Sorcha and Sidony Macleod, Isobel's two youngest sisters. This is my father, Sir Edward Robison," he added.

The amenities soon over, the countess having ordered food for Sir Edward and told the henchmen who had accompanied him to find seats in the lower hall, he sat at his son's side and soon had a full trencher and goblet before him.

Having drunk deeply from the goblet and gestured for a refill, he said, "But I interrupted your conversation, madam. I trust you were discussing naught that you cannot easily continue to discuss in my presence."

"Lady Sorcha and Hugo were merely relating their recent adventures to me," Isabella said lightly. " 'Tis all rather astonishing, because heartless villains carried off her sister Adela from her own wedding. Sorcha and Sidony set off to find her and met Hugo in the village of Dail Righ. We had got nearly that far when you arrived, so you must be sure to make Hugo repeat all the details of the first part of the tale to you later. Sorcha, my dear, do tell us what happened after Dail Righ."

Sorcha had seen Hugo wince at his aunt's proposal that he should tell Sir Edward the whole later, and she was not too comfortable with that idea herself.

But Hugo said only, "Before she continues, madam, I am afraid we should reveal one important detail without waiting until we reach the part of our journey when we came to be certain of it ourselves. I regret to tell you that the man who abducted Lady Adela was Waldron."

Isabella gasped. "But he's dead!"

"Evidently not," Sir Edward said dryly, shooting a speculative look at Hugo.

In the gatehouse on the uppermost level of the round gate tower at Edgelaw, Adela stood at the window gazing down at the road that passed below her into the square forecourt. She felt numb.

She and Waldron had ridden that way only half an hour before. She recalled the echoing click-clack of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones, because the sound had seemed to echo the speeding seconds of what little time she had left.

He had brought her to the little chamber, told her she would be comfortable, and left her there. She had heard the key turn in the lock. How long, she wondered, would it take him to realize he had no more use for her now that the others had seen her run off willingly with him? Perhaps he realized as much already.

That thought sat in her mind like a heavy stone that she could not dislodge. Its weight seemed to affect every muscle in her body, because she had no energy, nor sufficient will to think clearly or to act.

The light had nearly gone. She had watched the sunset before the castle came into view, but dusk lasted longer each night, and so they had been able to see well enough when they arrived. Some of his men had escaped, too. A few had reached Edgelaw before them, and four more had passed beneath her prison since.

Apparently no one had pursued them, which told her she need expect no further interference from Sorcha or Sir Hugo. And certainly Isobel would not urge anyone to come looking for her, not after the horrid things Adela had said to her. But Isobel had not understood the danger her presence had created. Sorcha had not understood that either, but then Sorcha never did recognize her own foolhardiness.

Adela wondered how the babe fared. It had come early, which often meant trouble. Remembering her mother's death, she forcibly put the bairn out of her mind. She could not afford such distraction now, for she could not trust herself to think properly as it was. Moreover, every time she thought she was coming to understand Waldron, he did something to prove she did not know him at all.

Still, he did seem to listen to her from time to time, so perhaps she could think of some way yet to influence him.

When he had first threatened to kill her, she had instinctively sought to distract him, to win his favor. Learning that she could not escape him, that he held her very life in his hands and would not hesitate to snuff it out, she had come to fear rescue, to fear that any such attempt would endanger her rescuers as well as herself. He had even persuaded her that he sincerely believed in his holy mission as a just cause, and indeed, perhaps he truly did believe that. In any event, she knew now that she had focused on his faith in God, on even his smallest kindness to her, to persuade herself that he was a normal man, even one who was coming to like her.

However, no normal man who liked her would have used her or her sisters, especially one big with child, to bait a trap for his enemies. But knowing all that—even recognizing that the deep gratitude she felt every time he did something normal stemmed from no more than a false hope that he was growing less brutal, less evil—did not seem to do anything but frighten her more. The earlier easing of her fear had vanished as soon as she had found herself alone with him again, and she wondered if the time she had spent with him had driven her mad. Warning him, then running with him had been impulsive and purely instinctive, but it had been pure madness, too.

She knew she ought to lie down and rest while she could. But the knowledge of what she ought to do and the doing seemed unrelated.

Dread surged through her at the sound of the key in the lock, but when he entered, he just nodded at her and said, "I know you must be as hungry as I am, but I had some things to see to. Supper is ready now if you'd like to come to the hall."

"Yes, please," she said, surprised that her voice sounded steady and natural.

When he stepped aside, she passed close to him and went down the narrow stairway to the cobbled courtyard. The air had grown chillier since their arrival, but they crossed the yard quickly and went inside.

A fire blazed on the hearth in the hall, but she felt little warmth from it as he guided her to the high table, past standing, silent men on each side of three trestle tables. Indicating a place for her at the end of the nearer bench, he then took his seat on a plain back-stool at one end of the table.

When the men in the lower hall behind her sat and began talking quietly, the resulting low, steady murmur made her feel as if she were alone with him again, but she could not read his mood. He signed for a gillie to serve them, and she ate silently, waiting for him to speak.

At last, he pushed the trencher away and leaned back with his wine goblet in hand. "I've been thinking," he said. "It has occurred to me that you may want a bath and some clean clothes."

Adela nearly burst into tears at the thought of being clean again, but with a ruthlessness she had not known she possessed, she suppressed the impulse. Even so, she had to wait a moment to be sure she could speak calmly before she said, "I'd like that, sir. How kind of you to think of it."

"I'm never kind, lass. But I want you to do something for me, and it won't do for you to be reeking when you do it."

The flood of relief at learning he still needed her overcame her determination not to cry. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she smiled through them, hoping he would think that her delight in at last being able to take a bath had stirred them.

Sorcha had never before known any conversation to possess so many pitfalls, but in the course of describing their journey to the countess and Sir Edward, she and Hugo seemed to fall into one after another. The countess had only to hear a glib remark to pounce on it and demand elucidation. And Sir Edward, displaying an uncanny knack for recognizing a partial truth, did the same thing.

He also showed Sorcha where his son had acquired the piercingly stern gaze that had often disconcerted her in their brief association when a question directed to Hugo inadvertently revealed that certain details Sir Edward had missed in the earlier discussion might be of greater interest than Isabella had led him to believe.

When he demanded the whole tale, Sorcha was astonished to note the same resigned guilt on Hugo's face that she had often felt on her own. But when they had revealed everything up to the previous night, Sir Edward was not as severe as the countess had been, saying no more to his son than, "We will talk more of this."

"Yes, sir," Hugo replied calmly.

"But do go on now, both of you, and tell us the rest," Isabella said.

The rest of the tale seemed to flow more easily, particularly the part about the baby's birth in the midst of battle. And if Isabella gasped and scolded when she learned of Sorcha's decision to leave Hugo's camp, and if Sir Edward shook his head more than once, the worst was over. The gratitude that both of them expressed at having Isobel and her baby safe at Roslin was sincere and profound.

"But I am grievously vexed with Waldron," Isabella added with a heavy frown. " 'Twas wickedness, first to abduct a bride from her wedding and then to order the same done to a woman great with child. His behavior has been quite unforgivable, and I want him to understand that. Do you know where he is now?"

Hesitating, Hugo looked at his father. But when Sir Edward gazed serenely back, he said, "Aye, madam, I do. He is at Edgelaw, but—"

"I shall send for him tomorrow," she declared.

"I doubt he will come," Hugo said.

"He will if he wants to continue calling himself Waldron of Edgelaw," Isabella said. "He merely serves as our constable there. He does not own the place."

"Then doubtless when Henry learns what he has done, he will—"

"Henry has nothing to say about it," Isabella snapped. " 'Tis at my pleasure, not his, that Waldron inhabits Edgelaw."

"I did not know that," Hugo said. "I knew he did not own Edgelaw, any more than I own Hawthornden, but I assumed that my uncle had gifted him the tenancy there for the term of his life as Henry did for me."

"Edgelaw is my property, settled on me when I married William," she said. "I offered it to Waldron as a residence because he had little to show for his training with you and Michael, and much to overcome in the circumstance of his birth. And, too, he always behaved charmingly to me. I liked him. However, had I not thought him dead, I'd have turned him out after that dreadful business last year with Isobel and Michael. The only reason I did not order his people to leave is that those who were not already loyal swore fealty to me. And they take excellent care of the land."

"Did Waldron keep the rents?" Hugo asked.

"A generous portion of them," Isabella said. "The rest he paid to me or my bailiff. Since last summer, his people have paid the entire sum each quarter day, except what they required for upkeep of the castle."

Noting that Sidony was scarcely able to keep her eyes open, Sorcha took advantage of the silence that followed to say, "I know you must want to discuss these matters further, madam, but I trust you will forgive Sidony and me if we beg to be excused now. This has been a very long day for us."

Isabella nodded, and they stood to take their leave.

Hugo and Sir Edward likewise stood, and Hugo said, "Don't go to bed yet, lass. I want a word with you before you do."

Hearing the note of determination in his voice, she was about to suggest that they could as easily talk in the morning, when he caught her gaze and held it.

Easily deducing that he meant to have his way, she said, "I will take Sidony upstairs first and see her settled, sir, but I can return here afterward."

"No need for that," he said. "I'll just go up with you."

Expecting the countess or Sir Edward to protest that intention, since their earlier reactions suggested that they would disapprove of any private chat between a maiden and a single gentleman, Sorcha glanced from one to the other. Neither spoke, however, so she and Sidony made their curtsies and went with Hugo.

Passing through an archway in the west wall and turning to their right, they entered a short corridor, at the northwest corner of which was the spiral stairway they had come down earlier.

"This wall to our right is the west end of the ladies' solar Henry built for his mother and Isobel last fall," Hugo said. "You may have noticed its entrance at the back of the dais. It all used to be part of the upper hall, so that wall is new, too."

"Isobel wrote us a letter about the solar," Sidony said. "She sent two of them with mendicant friars, written on the smoothest paper we had ever seen."

"Aye, it was very fine," Sorcha agreed. "She said Michael had given it to her." She remembered something else Isobel had written, about the solar, and although she did not think she ought to tell Hugo that her sister had mentioned Roslin's laird's peek, she did note the narrow doorway on the half-landing.

On the next level, they found a chambermaid waiting to assist Sidony, so at Hugo's suggestion, Sorcha left her sleepy sister to the young woman's ministrations.

When Sidony's chamber door had shut behind the two, Sorcha said, "I'm tired, sir, so pray say what you want to say to me and let me go to bed."

"Such pretty manners," he said in a teasing voice as he put his arm around her shoulders and urged her back toward the stairway. "We cannot talk here or in your chamber, so come upstairs with me. I want to show you the ramparts."

Fetching her cloak from her chamber first, she went up the stairs ahead of him. Halfway, recalling what he had told her about Waldron, she said over her shoulder, "I hope you are not so vexed with me that you mean to toss me into the river."

"Nay, Skelpie, I'd never do that."

At the top, he leaned past her to open the door. A light, icy breeze stirred the air as she stepped onto the moonlit walkway and nearly bumped into a guardsman.

The young man nodded politely, then stiffened to attention, saying, "Good evening, Sir Hugo."

"Good evening, Jeb Elliot," Hugo replied. "Are you alone up here?"

"Nay, sir, me brother Tam be a-watching from the east wall. All seems quiet enough, though. We havena seen a soul since Sir Edward arrived."

"Excellent," Hugo said. "I would have a few moments alone with the lady Sorcha, however, so you may do your watching from the north hoarding for a time. I'll keep watch for you to the west."

"Aye, sir. Just give a shout when ye want me to watch both bits again."

When he had disappeared around the corner, Hugo guided her nearer the southwest corner of the keep, which also proved to be the southwest corner of the curtain wall. Standing at the parapet, Sorcha looked down to see moonlight glinting on the river as it tumbled noisily from right to left around the promontory's base.

" 'Tis a long way down," she said.

"Aye," he agreed, moving so close that she could feel his body's warmth. "It flows north from here and empties into the Firth of Forth."

Without looking at him, she said, "I hope your intention is not to scold me for aught that I said to your father and the countess."

"Sakes, lass," he said with a chuckle, "I'm not daft. I know too well what it is like to suffer interrogation by that pair. Indeed, I doubt my part of it is over yet."

"They seemed displeased more often with me than with you."

"Perhaps, but you'll recall that my father wants to speak further with me."

"I doubt you fear him much."

"Do you? I promise you, he has a fearsome temper."

"But words cannot hurt you. I doubt he would try to put you over his knee," she added, glancing up with a sudden grin at the image her words brought to mind. Meeting a sudden intensity in his gaze, she looked quickly back at the river.

" 'Tis true I'm a mite large for skelping," he agreed. "But I do not want to talk about that." He turned her so she faced him and put his hands on her shoulders.

She could feel their warmth even through her wool cloak and gown. He stood so for a long, silent moment while she stared at his broad chest. Moonlight gleamed on the silver aglets of his doublet lacing.

"Look at me," he said softly.

His tone stirred sensual warmth in her that had nothing to do with the touch of his hands or with the likelihood that, despite his promise not to scold, he meant to say something that she would not want to hear.

Dampening suddenly dry lips, she obeyed him, and her lips parted in response to the unmistakable look of hunger in his eyes.