Page 43

Chapter

T he healer never returned.

The rain never stopped.

As such, they had no other choice than to retire after spending the evening, and two meals, sitting by the window watching dirt puddles form after watching the sky darken and listening to both the storm and the buzz of others’ conversations.

Maisie and Kieran avoided talk of kisses and spoke instead about their childhoods, Kieran’s situation, Maisie’s worries for the inn and all manner of other things. But as each of the patrons left the alehouse, an establishment not unlike her inn though with less rooms, of course, it was time.

Kieran lifted the key. “Shall we see to our room, wife?” he teased.

Maisie pushed away the last remnants of her meal and stood in response.

There were only three rooms abovestairs, the alewife had said, theirs being the last in the long hall that seemed eerily quiet as she and Kieran made their way through it.

With wall torches lighting the way, she stepped aside and allowed Kieran in front of her to open the door.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, not at all prepared for the room to be so spacious and well-appointed.

Wandering over to the bed, her hand traced the fine craftsmanship of its frame.

A fireplace in the corner of the room had been lit, and along with a lantern beside the bed, there was plenty of light to see that the room was, indeed, clean. All she’d hoped for.

“I will leave you to undress,” Kieran said, looking down at the floor.

She made a quick decision. “The bed seems to be large enough for two people,” she said. “I can sleep to your back. If it pleases you.”

He let out a breath. Kieran was suddenly more imposing here, in this bedroom, than he seemed in the hall. “It would please me too much,” he said. “Thus, the problem.”

She tried not to smile at that. “I trust you.” Unbelievably, ‘twas true. Maisie did, indeed, trust Kieran to be a gentleman, even if they slept in the same bed together.

“Maisie,” he began, and then, instead of finishing the words, with another intake of breath, he turned to leave. “I will be just outside the door.”

With that, Kieran made good on his promise and left.

Maisie, not knowing how long it might be until his return, made quick work of her kirtle.

Stripping down to her chemise, she folded her clothes and placed them on a wooden chair, boots underneath it.

Then, utilizing the lavender-scented water bowl on a stand beside the bed, she picked up the cloth beside it and cleaned her face and arms, wiping away the day.

Maisie then chewed on a piece of mint, discarding it in a wee bowl before heading toward the door.

Opening it just a crack, she whispered, “I am finished preparing for bed.”

Kieran pushed the door wider, his eyes moving from her face downward as he stepped back inside the room. She wore naught but a cream chemise, her feet bare and quickly becoming cold. Maisie pretended not to notice his appreciative gaze and headed toward the fire.

“I willnae turn around,” she said, “if you wish to do the same.”

Kieran chuckled. “I most often sleep in the nude, so . . .”

Her eyes flew to his face. Kieran smiled. “You are jesting with me.”

“I am not.”

“Surely you willnae do so this eve?”

Chuckling, he began to remove his boots. “Surely not.”

With his boots off, Kieran undid his belt. She watched as his plaid fell around him and the belt dropped. “Did you mean that you would not turn around to avoid seeing me or the opposite?” he jested.

Mortified, Maisie spun toward the fire.

“You are a wicked man to tease me so.”

“I never claimed to be otherwise.”

She watched the flames dance, imagining what Kieran was doing behind her. “But I know it to be so.”

“Do you, now?”

“Aye. I do.”

Suddenly she could sense a presence just behind her. His hands landed on both of her arms, just below each shoulder. Warm, comforting. She had no notion to push them away. Just the opposite, in fact. Maisie had wanted him to touch her all day even while denying such a fact to herself.

“I am not a wicked man,” he whispered, his breath so close to her ear Maisie could feel it. “But being with you makes me wish to tempt your vow.”

His left hand moved from her arm to Maisie’s right ear.

First, he tucked the loose strands behind it and then pulled the rest of her hair back so it was no longer hanging in front of her.

She did not have to guess at his purpose for moving it aside, as a moment later she could feel his breath on her neck.

And then, his lips were there. The gentlest of kisses was followed by Kieran pulling her toward him so that Maisie’s back touched his chest. With nothing but her chemise and presumably a linen shirt between them, his plaid having been discarded, Maisie closed her eyes at the pleasure of being so close to him.

He kissed from her neck toward her shoulder, pulling the fabric of her chemise aside.

“That sound,” he said in her ear, “that you’re making. I would hear it from your lips all eve.”

“I would make it all eve if you were to continue.”

“Should I continue?”

Maisie truly did not know what to think. Or how to answer.

His hand came around the front of her toward her chin. Turning her head backward to look at him, Kieran repeated the question. “Should I continue?”

Maisie blinked. “I want nothing more than for you to continue. To kiss me. To hold me in your arms again. And yet . . .”

“And yet, your vow.”

She looked up, into his eyes. “Aye.”

“To never marry.”

“Aye,” she said again.

“Do you intend never to be with a man, then?”

Maisie could not help but stare at his lips. She wanted so very much to feel him again on hers. “I thought not to do so.”

“But now that you know it can be, and should be, pleasurable?”

She’d thought of little else all day. “I’ve no desire to raise a child without a husband.”

He did not answer at first. Kieran simply looked at her, for so long that Maisie nearly turned away, so intense was his gaze. What was he thinking?

“There are ways to find pleasure without making love, Maisie.”

Her heart raced, thoughts of what he might mean running through her mind. She wanted him to kiss her. To show her pleasure.

Maisie had so little of it these past years.

And yet? Where would such a thing lead? Likely to her wanting more. But Kieran was not long for the Red Stag. Once he discovered his true identity, he would leave, never to return. And she would be left with naught but memories. Already Maisie thought of his kiss too often.

She stepped away.

“And I would discover them with you,” she said, regretfully. “And then lament the loss of such promised pleasure when you are gone.”

It was more honest than she’d prepared to be with him, but so be it. How dearly she wanted to return to his arms. To kiss him and forget, for just one night, every worry she’d had since the day she’d left home.

Temporary pleasure. A fleeting thing that would not warm her through the winter when she was left with a broken heart. For there was no doubt, already she had begun to feel things for Kieran she hadn’t for any man before him.

It seemed as if he would refute her, at first. But he did not. Instead, Kieran—in nothing but a linen shirt that hung low at the neck, revealing too much of his chest beneath for Maisie not to look—turned away.

“I will sleep with my back to you, a pillow between us,” he said flatly.

And with that and no other words, Kieran pulled back the coverlet, got into bed, and positioned one of the two pillows just as he said he would. The other, he left for her head.

Instead of joining him, Maisie returned to the fireplace. Using the poker, she moved one of the charred logs. Adding another, she continued to stare at the flames, Kieran’s steady breathing telling her he was already asleep.

For her part, Maisie did not think she could sleep for some time. Had she made the right decision? Why should she not have allowed herself some measure of pleasure?

I know my heart. ’Tis a fragile thing, despite the way I present myself to others.

Too fragile to be meddled with, despite the yearning she might have for his embrace. And Maisie very much yearned for that. For his kisses.

But she would remain strong, as always.

As necessary for a woman alone in the world.