Page 38

Isobel cleared her throat. Gilmour turned toward her, and despite everything, he felt his desire tighten restlessly beneath his haphazard plaid.

Isobel kept her gaze resolutely on Gilmour's face.

Bugger it!

"Me wounds be fine," he said.

She nodded. "Nevertheless, you'd best stay for a spell, lest she..." She cleared her throat again. "Lady Madelaine has her own way of doing things."

"So I noticed," he said, and scowled at the door. He was not a temperamental sort, neither did he rise easily to anger, but he felt that emotion now, swelling strong in his veins.

"So she..." Isobel wrung her hands and took a few faltering steps across the floor. "Did you speak to her?"

"Aye."

"In your chamber?"

Her tone sounded strange. He turned toward her. "What's that?"

"I was just curious whether she came to your chamber."

"Why do you ask, Bel?"

"No reason. She just said she might."

"Why would she do that?"

"I have no idea."

"Truly?" he said. "Might you think she finds me appealing?"

"I would not know."

"But you're a woman. You must have some idea what she's thinking," he said and took a step toward her. "Indeed—"

"Halt!" Her voice was shrill, close to panic.

He stopped where he stood.

"Listen, MacGowan, I've taken about all I care to take, what with Madelaine and Polly and those two giant clods.

I am sick to death of playing games, so if you wish for the truth, here it be.

You are handsome and you are charming and when I am with you I want nothing more than to rip the clothes from your.

.." Her gaze fell down his body, reminding him with some clarity that he wore very little.

"You are bonny," she said, soothing her tone.

"Polly seems to think so. As does Madelaine.

Mayhap even Cheval covets you. Whatever the case, I'll not stand in your way. " She seemed breathless and agitated.

Gilmour grinned. " 'Tis actually O'Banyon I have me eye on."

"What?" The air seemed to leave her lungs in a whoosh of sound.

He laughed, then sobered and approached her slowly. "You think me bonny, Isobel?" he asked and reached for her hand.

She let him take it, though she closed her eyes at the first touch of flesh against flesh. "My, but you're a needy one, MacGowan."

"You've no idea," he said and leaning down, brushed his lips against hers. She trembled beneath him and he straightened. "Good night, Bel," he said and turned away, but she held his hand.

"You cannot go."

His breath caught hopefully in his throat. "Why's that?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "You need rest."

"I go to seek me bed even now."

"There will be someone in it."

"What?"

"Either Polly or Dena or..." Her voice dropped off. She cleared her throat. "If you've a mind for their company, I've no wish to keep you from them."

"Don't you?" he asked and shifted toward her.

She almost winced. "I am tired, MacGowan. Too tired for sparring."

" 'Tis not sparring I had on me mind."

"I see that," she said, then dragged her gaze away from his plaid.

He laughed. "What would you have me do, Bel? Return to me chambers and fend off all comers so you can sleep soundly in your virginal bed?"

She stiffened. "Do whatever you like."

He raised his brows and moved closer. “Truly?"

"I meant—"

"I know what you meant," he said. "You meant that though you are not willing to give yourself to me, you'd like to know that I am forever longing for you. Is it not so?"

She said nothing.

He smoothed his fingertips across her cheek. "For one who confesses to be lowly reared, you have a good deal of arrogance, Bel."

"I think it may have been bred into me."

He laughed softly, relaxing a smidgen. "However did you come to this household?"

"It seemed a safer place than that which I left behind."

"Safer?"

"I was two and ten," she said. "And I did not care for the smell of the man I was to be given to."

"Nay!" His hand tightened in her hair.

"Aye," she said.

"I am sorry."

She caught his gaze with her own. "Have you ever taken a lass of twelve, MacGowan?"

He gritted his teeth and for a moment she thought he would not answer. "Nay."

"Have you ever taken a woman against her will?"

"What do you think?"

"I think a woman has little will where you are concerned," she said and sighed when he brushed his knuckles down her neck. " 'Tis a truth you have used to your advantage."

"Why did you not take the lads up on their offer?"

"I did not want to."

"I heard something about three hands length. 'Tis quite impressive—if one has to prove his worth by size."

"How long were you listening?"

He kept his fingers from forming to fists. "Long enough to wish to kill them."

She glanced up, surprise in her eyes. "Why?"

"Will they be back?"

She was silent for several seconds. "Mayhap."

"This night?"

She shrugged. Firelight gleamed in her eyes and danced across her ivory throat. Against his chest, he could feel her bosom rise and fall, and beneath his fingers, her skin felt as soft as heaven.

"I will sleep on the floor," he said.

"You're wounded," she protested.

"Are you suggesting we share a bed?"

She licked her lips. " 'Twould make Lady Madelaine ecstatic."

"And you?"

"I can always scream for help should the need arise."

"The need arose long ago," he said dryly and scowled as he turned toward the bed. "But I would not scream if I were you—for in this house they surely would only gather to watch."