Apparently not as dim-witted as he was surly, Duncan sat back down. “Just keep them away,” he growled. “Both of them.”
“They’re family as much as you,” Niall shot back. “Myfamily.”
Annag aimed a pointed look at Duncan. “Blood will tell.”
“Blood willrunif you don’t back off,” Trick said darkly. His knife clattered to his trencher, and, as he stood, his hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Clutching the shawl closed in front, Kendra rose. “Have we not seen enough violence here tonight?” Evidence still remained of the earlier brawl. “Come, Trick. I know where I’m not wanted.”
She curtsied to Niall but ignored his siblings as she took Trick by his sword hand and led him away. He allowed himself to be dragged, although not before fixing Hamish’s older children with a murderous glare.
That was exactly what Kendra was afraid of—murder. Trick was a highwayman, after all, accustomed to violence, and she’d never seen him this incensed.
Wanting to get as far from Annag and Duncan as possible, she led him out the door and around to the garden. The whole long way he didn’t say a word, but as they stepped into his mother’s wonderland of little model castles, she felt him begin to relax.
Night had nearly fallen, and the branches overhead were black silhouettes against the dark gray sky. In silence they walked up the long avenue of trees and back, up then back again. The crunch of their footsteps on the gravel seemed lost within the sounds of rushing wind and rustling leaves. Trick’s grip softened on her hand, and his breathing settled; his gait became looser.
A light mist began to fall, and in mute agreement, they headed back inside.
The door shut behind them, blocking the rain and the noisy wind. In the tunnel that led through the thick stone wall, Trick stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. Illuminated by the torches that lit the entry, his eyes searched her face. Kendra gazed back, wondering what he was looking for.
“I don’t like those two,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t put anything past them. I don’t know what Hamish has to bequeath to his children, but I suspect they’d go to any lengths necessary to see it ends up in their hands. All of it.”
Trick shrugged, moving closer, backing her up until she felt the wall, hard against her spine. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “They’re powerless, and they know it. They speak from desperation.” He skimmed his knuckles across her cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty head about them,leannan.”
Leannan.It sounded different now that she knew what it meant. “My head is more than pretty,” she retorted, not immune to his scent or the sudden spark that lit his eyes.
He nodded slowly. “Aye, that it is.” The wind had blown much of her hair loose from the bun, and he tucked it behind her ears, one side and then the other. He glanced into the great hall, sending a quelling glare to some poor soul who dared to look their way. Then, shielding her body from view with his larger one, he lowered his lips to hers.
The kiss was long and gentle, reawakening the stirrings in her belly that had started in Hamish’s chamber. Her hands moved to clasp him by the hips; then her fingers worked down to the kilt’s hem and edged underneath.
“Hmm.” With a low laugh, he swept both her hands into one of his, then raised them above her head and pressed her against the chilly stone. In contrast, his body felt so warm along the length of hers. And his mouth this time was harder and hot, hungry, his tongue demanding. She itched to touch him, but his hand tightened and she couldn’t, and it was strange what she felt, the twinge of frustration mixed with the heady thrill of the kiss.
He pulled back and cocked a brow. “That’ll teach you to take advantage of a man in a skirt.”
“Will it?” she asked. Nervously intrigued, she glanced up to their three hands.
His own gaze followed, and his laugh this time was short and amused as he released her wrists. “Seeing as it’s taken you five weeks to come to my bed, I reckon I’ll give you a few years before I go hunting for a way to keep those hands tied up and both of mine free.”
“Tied up?” she wondered breathlessly. He was always so outrageous.
“Scarves, a pair of cravats”—he glanced down—“maybe a tartan sash?” His expression going from playful to meditative, he met her eyes. “Later,leannan. Much later for that, I think.”
She blushed furiously, not at all as put off by that mental image as she thought she should be. Then his mouth claimed hers again, gentle once more, and she wrapped her arms around him, no longer thinking of that or anything while she gloried in his kiss.
As he drew back, a delicious shudder rippled through her. She knew for sure it would happen tonight.
“Are you cold, lass?”
“Maybe a bit.” Nervous and excited and backed against the cold stone wall. But the stones were more than cold. “There’s something about this place…”
He put a palm to the wall and leaned his weight on it. “What?”
“I…well, I’m just not comfortable here.” She tried to look away, but he captured her chin in his free hand, forcing her gaze to his. “Throughout my childhood,” she said, “marooned in exile on the Continent, parentless with no home to call my own, I never felt as out of place as I do here in this castle.”
One of his fingers traced a lazy line on her jaw. “Then you’ll understand why I wasn’t in a hurry to return.”
Her skin tingling under his fingertips, she nodded. But it wasn’t only this place, these people, that contributed to her unease. Although she was physically drawn to her husband, and more so by the moment, he remained emotionally distant. Still a stranger, his essence far from her grasp.
