Page 35

Isobel pivoted numbly toward her bedchamber.

"M' enfant."

Bel jumped then turned, shoving her arms hastily through her sleeves as she did so. "Lady Madelaine."

"Belva, dear. Polly said I might find you here."

Her lips moved. Heat brushed her face as memories smote her. What the devil had gotten into her? Not MacGowan that was certain, no matter how big a fool she had made of herself. But then, it was certainly her duty to learn if his word could be trusted. 'Twas surely the only reason she had acted so—

"Belva?" Madelaine said.

"Oh! Aye. I thought I might... look in on MacGowan."

"Ahhh. And how does he look this eve?"

"Fine."

Madelaine laughed. "I thought he might," she said, and slipping her arm beneath Isobel's, steered her down the hall. "And did you bed him?"

"What?" She reared back as if struck. "Nay, of course not."

They turned in tandem into a small sitting room.

"Mayhap I should make myself more clear," Madelaine said and dropping Isobel's arm, crossed the room to pour two draughts of wine from a round bottomed bottle. "I meant, did you make love to him."

Again Isobel's lips moved while her mind tried valiantly to race along behind. "N... nay." Technically, that may well be true. She had no way of knowing and no wish to find out.

Madelaine took a sip of her wine. "May I ask why?"

"Me lady." Was she panting? "You have been naught but good to me... those months I was in your household as well as now, and I have nothing but the highest respect for you, but I am not the sort to..." Hot memories bombarded her, heating her face. "That is to say—"

"Do you mean to tell me that you are still a virgin, Belva?"

Isobel winced. "Mayhap."

Madelaine laughed and urged the other to drink. "Whatever for?"

The wine soothed Isobel a bit. She exhaled gently and took another sip. "Surely I am not the first virgin you have met, me lady."

"Nay, if memory serves, even I was a virgin once upon a time.

But the truth is, Belva, you are no babe any longer.

Neither are you a great lady who is much in demand on the marriage mart.

Indeed, besides your skills in the kitchen, which are admittedly vast, you have little to show for your life.

So why deprive yourself of the pleasure a companion could give you? "

"Do you not believe fornication to be a sin?" Please say no.

Lady Madelaine shrugged. "Is your God the type to create something pleasurable only to punish you for enjoying it?"

Isobel might have answered if she'd been able to think, but her experience with MacGowan seemed to have driven any semblance of sense straight out of her head.

"I have known many folk who enjoy each other well but never marry.

Then there are those who are wed at home, or in fields or even, and I can attest to this.

.." Madelaine said, slanting an uneven glance at Isobel.

"Some are wed in the marriage bed itself.

Some are virginal, some are not so, and some wait until well after the birth of their first enfant before their vows are spoken.

Others barely meet before they are marched before their partners and wed while scores of grand folk look on.

They are bound together in great cathedrals with bejeweled guests and fine wine.

"And yet it seems that the latter group is no more content than the first. Neither are they more blessed, for many who share a bed outside the bonds of wedlock truly cherish each other, while those bound before God and man spend their days detesting their spouses.

Which couple, do you think, is the Lord more pleased with, the ones with vows truly spoken who despise one another, or the ones who did not exchange the vows yet honor each other in word and deed? "

Isobel blinked rather foolishly and wondered if there might be a better time to debate deep moral issues. "I do not know."

Perhaps she sounded as befuddled as she felt, for Madelaine smiled. "And yet you wait," she said. "I but wonder why."

"Mayhap I wait for the right man."

"The wrong ones are oft more tempting, chere, on that you can take my word."

"I am not tempted."

Madelaine took a sip of her wine. "Not even by the rogue?"

Isobel's face felt hot, but she forced herself to meet the other's eyes. "N—" she began, but the lie was a bit too large, for in the midst of the word, she felt her hands shake. "Mayhap a wee bit."

"Aye." Madelaine laughed again. "Mayhap. And yet you did not partake of what he could offer." The seconds ticked by. "Might it be, Belva, that you are afraid?"

"Begging your pardon, me lady," she said, "but living with you has given me the idea that there is no great pain involved with the act of joining."

"I did not mean that you are afraid of that which is physical, Belva. You were an orphan from birth, were you not?"

"Aye, but I fail to see what that has to do with the matter."

"So you are not afraid of finding love only to lose it?"

"Nay. Of course not. Whatever would make you think so?"

"And you are not afraid of the physical aspects of a couple uniting."

"Nay."

"And we have already discussed God's part in this, thus... There is no reason for you to deny yourself the pleasure any longer." She paced toward the door and opened it, as if everything had been decided.

Isobel followed her stiffly, her heart wild in her chest. "Have I not told you, MacGowan holds little temptation for me?"

Madelaine stared at her a second, then laughed. "Silly girl, I am not about to toss you into the bed of one you do not desire. Nay," Madelaine added, curling her arm about Isobel's back. "But I have others who will surely meet your standards."

"What?" Isobel reared back, but Madelaine prodded her forward.

"Come along, sweeting, 'tis late and you are surely tired. Go to your chamber and I will send by a couple of likely lads."

"I have no wish for a couple of likely lads."

"Then choose only one if you are so inclined. Although, as I've oft said, two are as good as one, only better."

"Me lady—"

"There now, no balking. 'Tis my gift to you for the trouble you have seen. You are so tense. 'Twill help you relax. And you needn't worry about the problem of an unwanted babe; my lads will take care of that too."

"But—"

"Meanwhile..." They were almost to Bel's chamber. "You do not mind if I pay your MacGowan a visit do you?"

Isobel's mind spun like a whirling dervish as she stumbled to a halt again. "What?"

"MacGowan," Madelaine repeated. "I know you do not find him particularly appealing, but I rather like the look of him. You have no objections do you, chere?"

Isobel was never sure if she nodded or shook her head or squealed like a pig, but Madelaine leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"Not to worry, m' enfant, I'll be gentle with him, and you'll be the same with my lads, oui?"

In a moment she was gone. The door closed. Isobel's mind whirled. What, she wondered, had just happened?

Someone rapped on Gilmour's door. He stopped his pacing and found to his chagrin that he had ceased to breathe again.

But who could blame him? It may be Isobel, returned to relieve him of this terrible ache she had begun.

He turned rapidly toward the door, but a question held him in place.

Would he still be held to his vow to restrain himself or would this be considered an entirely different meeting?

He couldn't afford to be found lacking where his vow of abstinence was concerned, for he feared Isobel may consider the entire ordeal some kind of horrid test.

He scowled at the portal, his stomach pitching and his loins pulled tight and high like a stallion kept too long alone.

"Who comes?" he asked, doing his best to keep his tone controlled.

" 'Tis me, Lady Madelaine," came the answer.

Something sank in Gilmour's belly. "How can I help you, me lady?"

"You could invite me in."

He was in no mood for companionship. Nevertheless, he could hardly refuse the lady in her own home. He glanced about, searching in vain for his plaid. "I fear I am not prepared for compan—" he began, but the door opened before he had finished the sentence.

Madelaine stepped inside, her gaze sliding down his naked body to his erection. Slowly, she closed the door behind her. "On the contrary," she said, "it looks to me as if you are quite ready for company."

Instinct told him to snatch up a blanket and dart behind the bed.

Gilmour MacGowan was not a man strong on cowardly instincts.

"Me lady," he said, folding his arms across his chest to keep them from a sad attempt to cover his nether parts, which had a life of their own. "How is it that you keep seeing me in the altogether?"

"Some might think it blind luck." She canted her head at him and took a step away from the door. "I would have to dissuade you from such nonsense."

He said nothing. What was there to say?

"I heard you and Belva did not couple."

His stomach churned as he swore in silence. But he raised one brow and kept his expression carefully impassive. "Mayhap this is not something to be discussed between the two of us."

"I but came to extend my condolences," she said and approached him.

"Regardless what you may think, me lady, I do not bed every woman I meet."

" 'Scores' wasn't it?" she asked and began walking around him. "And scores"—she smiled—"is a fairly large sum."

He turned in tandem. His father had taught him at a tender age not to turn his back to an adversary. "That depends on what one is referring to."

"I believe your sexual partners are the discussion at hand," she said and continued to circle him. He, too, moved. "Why do you keep turning?"

"This is me best side."

She laughed and came to a halt. "Is it now?"

"May I ask why you have come, me lady?"

Her chuckle was low and seductive. "I have had a few partners myself, Laird MacGowan."

"You are a handsome woman, me lady," he said. "You are most probably drowned in offers."

She smiled, but watched him carefully. "Mayhap you have met my lads?"