Page 14

14: A FADING DREAM

BONNIE’S LEGS WOBBLED under her as she hurried through the garden, yet she didn’t slow her step.

And all the while, warm stickiness—Iver’s seed—trickled down her thighs.

She didn’t want to leave him, yet she had to.

He’d been about to remove her mask, and once he dealt with their intruders, he would.

Bonnie couldn’t let that happen.

Until now, she’d been pretending to be someone else, but once Iver saw her face, he’d remember it.

Perhaps then, he’d recognize the chambermaid who’d tripped in the inner close the day before.

Bonnie almost broke into a run then.

However, she couldn’t panic.

She had to remain composed.

She’d shortly be passing in front of the guards who watched over the outer close.

She couldn’t draw attention to herself.

Bonnie swallowed hard, not daring to look over her shoulder.

He’d come after her; she was sure of it.

She’d slipped down the steps that led from the eastern side of the terrace as soon as he disappeared—yet it wouldn’t be long before he returned to the wall and discovered her missing.

Bonnie passed out of the garden, under the archway.

Her heart was beating so hard, she felt as if it would explode from her chest.

Suddenly, the archway that led into the inner close seemed leagues distant.

She hurried her step further, panic clawing up her throat.

I can’t let him catch me.

An enchantment of some kind had fallen over her this evening.

When she’d danced with Iver in the great hall and spoken with him afterward, she’d let herself get carried away.

Once she’d mastered her nerves, she seemed to have forgotten this wasn’t one of her fantasies.

It was real—and reality had consequences.

Ainslie had issued her a few stern warnings, but she’d completely disregarded her friend’s advice.

Worse still, she’d coupled with a stranger on the castle walls.

Bonnie’s throat constricted then, tears stinging her eyelids.

Indeed, she’d inherited her mother’s recklessness.

No woman with any sense of self-preservation would have let herself go like that.

I want more … I want everything .

Heat flushed through Bonnie at the memory of her gasped words.

Did she have no shame at all?

It was just as well she’d never have to face Iver Mackay again.

Reaching the inner close, and passing by the guards flanking the archway, Bonnie crossed to the kitchens.

She ducked inside the warm space, glancing around as she did so to make sure that no one was about.

Fortune was with her, for the large space was empty.

The hearths at one end burned low, the red-gold embers casting a soft light over the shadowy kitchens.

Bonnie didn’t linger there.

Instead, she retrieved a bowl, a drying cloth, and a jug of water.

Then, hooking a lantern over one arm, she hurried up the stone steps.

As always, she took the servants’ stairwell to her attic.

She met no one on the way, for at this hour, most of Stirling’s servants, except for the guards and those serving in the great hall, were tucked up in their beds.

As she should have been.

Bonnie had never scaled the stairs so quickly, and by the time she reached the attic, her pulse was pounding in her ears.

Climbing into the loft, and careful not to spill the water, she set down the items she’d brought with her.

Then, she stripped off her mask and gown.

Her hands trembled as she did so, and she fumbled with the laces, yet eventually, the damask pooled at her feet.

Worry tightened Bonnie’s ribcage then.

She and Iver had been careless.

What if she’d damaged Ainslie’s gown?

She held it up before the glow of the lantern, inspecting it.

However, she couldn’t see any tears or stains.

Huffing out a relieved breath, she carefully folded the garment, smoothing out any creases.

She then placed the mask on top of it.

Naked, she crouched before the bowl, wet the cloth she’d brought from the kitchen, wrung it out, and washed herself.

Part of her, the traitorous part that lacked good sense and modesty, didn’t want to wash Iver’s seed away.

She could still smell him on her skin, and she longed to crawl into her nest of sheepskins and fall asleep enveloped in his scent.

Her skin prickled then.

What if her womb quickened?

Her courses were due in just a couple of days—but if they never arrived, she’d be in deep trouble.

“Foolish chit,” she muttered between gritted teeth.

“Ye must act sensibly from now on.”

Something deep inside her chest twisted then.

Lord help her, she didn’t want to let go of this evening’s magic.

Aye, she’d felt like an imposter amongst those lords and ladies, but that hadn’t stopped her from walking in their world for a short while—a world where a man like Iver looked her way.

But the truth was this life was all she had, and there was no escaping it.

She was trapped within the walls of Stirling Castle, bound to a chambermaid’s existence.

Tears blurred her vision once more as she finished washing and pulled on the scratchy léine she always wore for bed.

He’ll still be searching for me.

The ache under her breastbone intensified.

He’d be alarmed that she’d run off into the night; he’d want to know she was well.

Lying amongst her sheepskins, staring up into the darkness, Bonnie reached up, her fingers tracing the spot on her shoulder where he’d bitten her.

It had hurt—and yet at the same time, she’d welcomed the pain, the feeling of possession.

Heat ignited low in her belly as she recalled how she’d unraveled, twice, in his arms.

It’s over …

let him go.

And yet she couldn’t.

Not yet.

Squeezing her eyes shut, as hot tears scalded her eyelids, Bonnie rolled onto her side.

Tonight, she wouldn’t let herself dream about the forbidden.

No, those days were over.

Such fancies were dangerous, for they blurred the edges between fantasy and reality.

And Bonnie had just learned that reality had sharp edges—ones that left bruises.

“Brother?”

Blinking, Iver glanced up from his untouched bannock.

He’d spread it with butter and honey yet hadn’t taken a bite.

Lennox’s voice sounded as if it were reaching him from afar.

“What?” he asked distractedly.

His brother made an irritated noise in the back of his throat.

“Were ye actually listening to anything I just said?”

Iver sighed and forced himself to focus on Lennox.

The two of them sat at the small table in Iver’s bedchamber.

Servants had just brought in bannocks and a jug of watered-down ale for them to break their fast with.

However, neither man had touched the food.

In the silvery light filtering in from the open window, Lennox’s face was pale and drawn, his dark-blue eyes bloodshot.

He looked rough, although Iver wagered—despite that he hadn’t overindulged in drink like his brother— he didn’t look much better.

He hadn’t slept at all the night before.

“No,” he said with a sigh.

“Sorry. Could ye repeat yerself?”

Lennox muttered something under his breath before raising his cup of watery ale to his lips and gingerly taking a sip.

“I was saying that we need to hurry ourselves up,” he replied.

“The king’s council starts shortly.”

Iver grunted, raking a hand through his hair.

Satan’s cods, he’d almost forgotten the meeting they’d all been bid to attend in the king’s solar.

It was the reason Niel had sent Iver here in the first place.

Yet, Iver was so preoccupied this morning—his thoughts upon the woman he’d met the night before—the council had completely slipped his mind.

Across the table, Lennox frowned.

“What is wrong with ye?”

“Nothing.”

His brother’s mouth pursed.

“Liar.” He leaned forward then and raised both hands to his temples massaging gently.

“Curse it,” he muttered.

“I’m in no fit state for this council either … it feels as if a tribe of vicious imps has taken hammers to my thought cage.”

“I’m not surprised,” Iver replied.

He then lifted his cup to his lips and drained it.

“Ye overdid it last night.”

Lennox snorted.

“Ye enjoyed yerself too if I recall. I was sober enough to see how taken ye were with that red-haired beauty ye were dancing with.” His brother’s mouth quirked then.

“And Campbell and I both saw ye leave the hall with her.”

Iver tensed, casting his brother a scowl.

He pushed himself to his feet, massaging a tense muscle in his shoulder.

However, Lennox was favoring him with a speculative look now.

“I expected to see ye with a spring in yer step this morn, brother. Yet ye look as if someone just pissed in yer porridge.”

“Leave it, would ye,” Iver muttered.

The scrape of wood echoed through the bedchamber as Lennox pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

He winced then. “The Devil take me, that was loud.”

Together, the brothers left the chamber and made their way to the spiral stairwell that would take them down a level.

It was still early, yet already the keep was busy.

Servants hurried past carrying chamber pots that needed emptying and sheets to be laundered.

Iver and Lennox paid them little notice.

Instead, as Iver made his way down the stairs, his thoughts turned inward once more.

Why did she run?

He’d searched for Adair in the garden and the outer and inner close courtyards before he entered the keep and scoured each floor.

Nonetheless, he’d known it was futile.

He couldn’t go around door-knocking, and Stirling Castle housed a great number of people.

Even so, he’d been so desperate that he’d asked some of the guards if they’d seen her.

None had.

Eventually, Iver had given up and returned to his chamber.

There, he’d flung open the window and gazed out at the moonlit night, trying to make sense of things.

He’d never felt so comfortable with anyone as he had with Adair Farquharson.

For a short while, he’d forgotten his vow never to expose his heart again, never to take a wife.

And in the aftermath of their tryst on the walls, he’d been determined to get to know her better.

Maybe fate was done tormenting him.

And yet, Adair had melted into the night like a shadow the moment his back was turned.

The sting of old hurts had risen then, as Iver stared up at the moon.

He’d suffered a few rejections over the years—and two, in particular, had left a scar—but he’d never actually had a woman flee from him.

It was tempting to withdraw, to lick his wounds in private and put the encounter behind him.

And yet, he couldn’t.

The events of the night before had jolted him out of the malaise that had plagued him over the past years.

This morning, it was as if his old self had just awoken from a deep slumber.

Suddenly, he no longer wanted to hide away.

Iver ground his teeth together.

Curse the king and this council.

He wasn’t in the mood for it.

He wanted to find Adair instead.

Reaching the floor below, he headed toward the open door of the solar.

The growl of male voices drifted out, warning him that the room was rapidly filling up.

As much as it chafed him, he needed to put Adair out of his mind for the moment; nonetheless, now that the magic of yestereve had gone, something niggled at him.

An odd disquiet. Adair wasn’t like any laird’s daughter he’d ever met.

I have to find her.

And as soon as he got this council out of the way, he would.