Chapter Fourteen

He didn’t know what had happened. One moment, he’d saved himself—and her—from giving in to his baser desire to ravage her mouth with a kiss, and the next, his plan to send her off to sleep had failed miserably. Damned wolf. If he came across that creature, he was going to kill it for the pain its howling was now causing him. Maisie wiggled her bottom, which was pressed directly against his aching staff, and let out another soft sigh. She was sleeping like a bairn, and he was throbbing with tension and desire.

The urge to take her clothes off and worship her in the way her body demanded was overwhelming. But worse was that, as she had been talking to him, telling him she could not hate him, and showing pure empathy for what he’d been through, he’d had a moment where he could imagine being wed to her forever.

Mayhap Eppie was right. Mayhap he needed to truly give Maisie an opportunity to prove who she was without thoughts of her brother. If she was really the honest, caring lass she seemed to be, she would certainly come to accept the truth of her brother in the time they were handfasted, and if they found they suited, well, then mayhap there could be a future. He would be joined to her clan through marriage, but her brother would likely be imprisoned for life or sentenced to death.

Maisie shifted again, but this time, she turned over with a grunt, and then to his surprise, she threw her leg over him and snuggled into his chest. He stayed as still as possible, but images flew through his mind. Her without a scrap of clothing on. Her under him. Her above him. Him behind her. He gritted his teeth on the growing desire and took a deep breath, only to get a hefty whiff of Maisie’s womanly scent. She smelled of wildflowers and river water and a musk that was uniquely her own.

He’d been with women since his return, but not like this. He’d not held a woman, talked to any woman besides Eppie about his past, not admired a woman’s courage like he had with Maisie. She was warm and soft and fragile beneath his fingers, and the need to keep her grew within him. He lay there for a long while thinking of all the nights he’d lain awake at the abbey, repeating his enemies’ names over and over, and her name had not been among them.

What was it Father Ollie had said? Graeme thought for a long moment until it came to his weary mind. The priest had said Graeme was judging Maisie for things that had not yet occurred, that she’d not yet refused to see the truth after confronted with it, she’d not yet lied to Graeme, and she’d not yet chosen loyalty to her brother over Graeme. He couldn’t believe it, and he hoped he was proved a damned fool, but he would quit judging her for things that had not happened yet. He would judge her simply on her actions. Finally feeling as if the noise in his head had quieted, he hugged Maisie closer, drew the plaid further over her body, and closed his eyes as sleep took him.

For a man who had acted like sleeping in the same shelter with her was a horrid prospect, he certainly was holding her tight and protectively. It brought a smile to her lips. In the light cast by the bright moon, she studied Graeme’s profile, even though the press of her bladder, which had woken her up, was quickly becoming more urgent. He had a ruggedly handsome, inherently strong face. The scars did not diminish his appearance one bit. They showed he was a survivor. The thought of the pain those scars must have caused made her throat ache.

“Da,” she whispered into the relative darkness as she stared at Graeme’s scars, “how could ye have consigned an innocent child and woman to a life of captivity?” Tears filled her eyes and leaked out of them, and because she was not yet prepared to move and risk waking Graeme, she simply squeezed her eyes shut as the familiar pain of losing her father and knowing there were dark sides to him as well as light gripped her.

And then she hissed in a breath on a thought. She had believed she’d truly known her da until the day she had learned she did not. She would have argued his innocence, just as she now argued Brody’s. What if she was wrong about Brody, as she had been wrong about her father? What then?

She loved her brother, and she did not love Graeme, but what if the day came that she did and a truth she could not see now came to light. Could she forsake her brother if he’d indeed kept Graeme and Eppie locked up? No man was all good or all bad. Her father’s actions had shown her that. He’d been a wonderful father, but he’d been a harsh, unforgiving foe.

Her heart was pounding with the thought of having to make a choice of loyalty in the future, and she extracted herself from Graeme ever so slowly and carefully so as not to wake him. Once she was standing, she stared down at him. He’d given her all the while he’d slept on the hard ground with no covering. That was the type of caring man he was, though his burning need for vengeance overshadowed it at times. He was also the type of man who slept with his sword still attached to his body. She frowned at that. That had to be horribly uncomfortable, but no doubt, his time in captivity was why he now slept with one on his person.

His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and she stood there imagining what it would feel like to have his arms braced on either side of her as they joined their bodies. She didn’t even care that she was having lustful thoughts. Surely, there was no harm in imagining what it might be like to join with a man you were handfasted to. If he joined as passionately as he kissed, she thought it quite possible she would never want to leave the bedchamber.

Stifling a giggle, she crept out of the tent and scanned the dark night for glowing wolf eyes. For a moment, she considered going back and waking Graeme up, but the thought of rousing him to accompany her to relieve herself was more mortifying than her fear of the wolf. Anyway, that wolf had to be long gone by now.

She crept away from camp and into the woods, deciding to go to the river so she could freshen herself after tending to her needs. Every time a twig snapped underfoot, she twitched, and she kept scanning the dark night for any signs of creeping creatures. Just when she started to relax, she thought she heard a rustle behind her. She whipped around and stared in shock at the burly man before here. Then she opened her mouth to scream, but before she could get a sound out, she was hit from behind and darkness descended.

Maisie awoke to arguing voices and daylight. She sat up in the makeshift shelter someone had put her in, and her head pounded painfully. Fear blossomed within her when she recalled the events, but she couldn’t let it keep her from trying to escape. She stood and a wave of nausea rolled over her, but she put one foot in front of the other, made her way to the two pieces of cloth hanging together, and opened them a sliver to see who had snatched her.

She sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as she took Aidan in. He stood in front of the big man who had surprised her in the woods and a much younger lad. Aidan was red-faced, pacing, and waving his hands in the air as he bellowed at them both.

She didn’t have a concern in the world that Aidan meant to harm her, so she stepped out and started toward them, getting snatches of their conversation as she went.

“I told ye to being her to me if ye found her, nae knock her out!”

“My lord,” the older man said, “I already told ye it was nae me. It was my clot-heid son!”

“I’m sorry, Laird!” the boy cried out. “I got scairt that the Stewart would hear her and come try to stop us.”

“Ye better hope she awakens soon!” Aidan seethed, “or I swear to ye, ye’ll pay with yer life.”

“Aidan!” she said sharply, which sent a shaft of pain through her skull and set another wave of nausea washing over her. She paused, trying to stifle the nausea, but before she could get it under control, Aidan was in front of her.

“Maisie! Thank the gods ye’re awake!”

He took her by the elbow, but she wrenched away, turning from him. “I’m going to be ill,” she muttered, then rushed toward the trees, fell to her knees, and lost the contents of her stomach. When she was done, she sat up, trembling, staring at the dirt as she took long even breaths. Aidan’s shoes came into view, so she knew he was standing beside her.

“Ye’re ill?”

She nodded, sitting back on her knees and pressing one hand to her forehead and one to her knee. “I think it’s the hit on the head.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Aidan said, still standing there. She thought of Graeme in that moment and how he’d kneeled to be face-to-face with her when she’d felt unwell. The gesture was a small one with a large impact. Graeme genuinely cared. “They were supposed to find ye, and bring ye to me, nae hit ye.”

She nodded, but that small movement made her world tilt, so she stilled once more. “I’m thirsty,” she said, recalling how she hadn’t even had to tell Graeme. He’d known her needs before she had, providing her with wine without her asking.

“Gerald, bring me the wine!” Aidan snapped.

She glanced toward where the man and his son had been standing and watched as the older man strode toward them. Aidan was a laird’s son, used to having someone to do his bidding with one command from him. She didn’t fault him for it. Her brother was the same, and her sister, too, but it had always seemed to her that one should do the things they could for themselves. Graeme took care of himself, and she liked that.

Gerald handed the wine to Aidan, and Aidan, in turn, leaned over and held it out to Maisie. She took it, drank a few swigs and handed it back as she studied Aidan. He was handsome, but compared to Graeme, he might as well have been a toad. He did not heat her blood the way Graeme did.

“Can ye walk?” Aidan asked. “I can aid ye, but ye do have vomit on her skirts.”

She glanced down and saw that he was indeed correct. Some vomit had splattered on the edge of her skirts. She did not think it would have bothered Graeme in the least, but Aidan... well, Aidan had a look of utter disgust on his face. The certainty that she could not, did not want to wed Aidan took hold of her. She preferred a man like Graeme. He had not asked her if she could walk. He’d scooped her into his arms, against his very sturdy chest, and then set her on his lap. Certainly, she didn’t want to sit on Aidan’s lap or be crushed up against his chest, but it was yet one more example of the differences between the men.

“I can walk,” she said, standing up very slowly, but still, her world tilted and she reached out and grabbed Aidan’s arm. “Actually, I need ye to steady me.”

“Of course,” he replied. He walked her to the logs around the fire, which had died out, and helped her sit. Once she sat, she said, “Whyever did ye send men for me?”

“I should have come myself,” he replied, “but I did nae want Stewart to see me, and then ken exactly which way to head to track ye. I thought to gain us time.”

She frowned. “For what?” she asked, rubbing at her aching temples.

“Well, to be wed, of course.”

She gaped at him. “Aidan, the king would be livid, given his command.”

“He would forgive us after I reveal how passion overtook us and I took yer innocence.”

“Aidan,” she said on a heavy sigh and a glance around to confirm his man and the man’s son were not in earshot. “I have come to realize I dunnae feel for ye the way I wish to feel for the man I wed.”

“What do ye mean?”

“I mean,” she said, considering how to say what she needed to, “I love ye, but I’m nae in love with ye.”

He frowned. “Ye will grow to be in love with me.”

She shook her head. “I dunnae think so. I—”

“Does this have to do with Graeme Stewart?” he demanded, his tone harsh.

She didn’t want to hurt him, but she also wanted to be truthful. “Aye, in part. When he kissed me, I felt something I did nae when ye kissed me.”

“Well, then ye simply need to let me kiss ye again.”

“A second kiss will nae make me feel differently, Aidan.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye dunnae ken that.”

She rose faster than she should’ve, and black creeped into her vision as the ground under her feet tilted. “Ye must take me back to Graeme.”

“Why? Because ye love him?” Aidan snapped.

She pressed her palm to her hot head and squeezed her eyes shut on a wave of nausea. “Nay, ye clot-heid. Of course, I dunnae love him. I only just met him!”

“But ye like his kisses!”

She did like his kiss, but she refused to discuss it more with Aidan. “Take me back,” she said, forcing herself to open her eyes. The world around her was spinning.

“I’ll take ye back after ye lie down. Ye look terrible.”

She felt terrible, so she nodded. “Just a wee rest, and then ye vow ye will take me back?”

“I vow I will return ye to the enemy after ye take a respite and ye grant me one more kiss.”

“I’m nae going to grant ye one more kiss!”

“Then I’m nae going to take ye back.”