“If we marry,” Ronan whispered. “One day—preferably many days—I will take you like that on my desk.”
“Take me?” Abigail pushed away the tapestry and stepped out. She held it back for Ronan. “That implies I wouldn’t want it. I’d come willingly.” Both grinned at Abigail’s double entendre.
They stood staring at one another at a loss for what to say after their conversation, their tryst, and their spying. Ronan took Abigail’s hand, and they walked in silence to the door. Ronan put his finger to his lips as he eased the door open. He stood looking in both directions before stepping forward.
“Could we go for a walk this afternoon, if the queen permits it?” Ronan whispered over his shoulder.
“I will see that she does,” Abigail replied. Ronan left the chamber without looking back, but Abigail watched his hands open and close, knowing he wanted to but didn’t dare. She slipped from the chamber moments later.
Nine
Abigail slipped into her chamber before pressing the door shut and leaning back against it. She shut her eyes, trying to visualize the time she spent in Ronan’s arms. Like the fine Sutherland whisky Maude’s family sent to them, Ronan’s kisses had the power to make heat suffuse every fiber of her body, going straight to her head. She felt giddy while at the same time her limbs felt heavy. Her breasts and core ached for more of his attention. She’d moaned when his hand slipped beneath her kirtle and pinched her nipples. She wanted to rip the material from her shoulders and hold her breasts up in offering. She’d felt Ronan’s shaft pressed against the crease between her bottom cheeks, and it aroused her in a way she never imagined. All she wanted was more time in his arms, more time to explore how their bodies fit together.
But more time alone would only make the temptation too great—at least for her. She supposed Ronan would restrain himself, just as he always had, but she didn’t know that she could. She feared she would beg Ronan for his kisses and his touch, making a fool and a harlot of herself. She respected Ronan’s choice of abstinence, and she didn’t want to put him in a position where he might abandon his resolve because of her. But Abigail found doing the right thing to be deeply unfulfilling.
Since the queen wouldn’t expect her for the rest of the morning, Abigail lay down on her bed. She would have to make an appearance at the midday meal to prove she was well enough to go for a walk with Ronan that afternoon. She would suffer through hours of off-key harp music if it meant she could spend time with Ronan away from the keep. She closed her eyes and imagined what Dun Ringill looked like. She’d been to the MacLeod’s stronghold Dunvegan on Skye, but not since she was a child. She recalled Ronan saying his home looked out over the water. She supposed that, as an island much like Lewis, there were few fortifications that wouldn’t sit on the coast. They would be the first line of defense against an attack, blocking the aggressors before they could move inland.
As she pictured Dun Ringill, she pictured Ronan’s chamber. If it were anything like her brother’s, it would hold a massive bed. She wondered if she and Ronan might be like Maude and Kieran, sharing a chamber and a bed every night. As more images of Ronan’s chamber formed behind her closed eyelids, she hitched her skirts to her waist. Remembering the sensations Ronan’s kisses and touches stirred earlier, she slipped her fingers along her seam, finding dew collecting between her thighs. Her fingers sought the bundle of nerves that were still stimulated despite the release she’d found in Ronan’s arms. She rubbed in slow circles as she imagined Ronan stripping her bare. In her vision, they tumbled onto the bed, both naked. As Abigail pictured Ronan’s lips scorching a trail along her body, she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. As she rubbed faster and harder, her breathing became more labored. As need coiled tightly in her belly then released pleasure throughout her body, Abigail’s breasts ached for Ronan’s touch. Satiated and breathless, Abigail drew in deep breaths of cool air before feeling calm. She pushed her skirts back into place.
Abigail’s thoughts turned to what it would be like as Ronan’s wife. She considered her duties beyond his or her bedchamber. She tried to imagine herself as Maude. She imagined sitting down with the cook and planning the week’s menu, checking with the housekeeper to ensure there were plenty of candles, oil, and the servants remained industrious. A picture of Abigail sitting beside Ronan materialized as she imagined them sitting together in the Great Hall once a month as they adjudicated disputes among clan members. Ronan would rule over disagreements between men, while Abigail would oversee the women.
Surprisingly, Abigail found she looked forward to those tasks she had previously dreaded. She wondered if she would tour the villages with Ronan when he went to check on their inhabitants as spring arrived, when the fall harvest was upon them, and in preparation for winter. Abigail discovered she wanted to learn how she could help the MacKinnons. She felt ashamed that she’d never had that calling for her own people, but she supposed developing a sense of duty was better late than never.
The morning drifted away as she daydreamed, and Abigail startled when the bells rang to alert everyone that it was time for the midday meal. She stuck her feet back into her slippers and made her way to the Great Hall. She cast her gaze toward where she knew her guardsmen sat, and she found Ronan watching her. She offered him a brief, almost timid smile before she looked at the ladies’-in-waiting tables and wanted to groan. She made her way to her peers, wishing she could sit with Ronan instead.
“Lady Abigail, you’re looking remarkably well, considering you are indisposed,” Lady Sarah Anne smirked.
“I rested and now feel quite recovered. Your concern is—noted,” Abigail nodded as she took her seat. She reminded herself that if she hadn’t anything nice to say, she would do well to remain quiet.
“We saw you walking into the keep with Laird MacKinnon,” Lady Margaret winked conspicuously at her younger sister.
“Aye. I wasn’t feeling well, and he offered to escort me out of the chill weather. It was gracious of him, considering that he had somewhere else to be.” Abigail wouldn’t say that the somewhere else was locked in a library with her as they nearly coupled against a wall and on a table. She maintained a neutral expression, even though it was a feat she couldn’t believe she accomplished. She desperately wanted to look in Ronan’s direction and grin.
“That’s interesting because Lady Margaret and I were concerned and went to check on you. You didn’t answer when we knocked on your door.” Sarah Anne bore a matching smirk to her sister’s.
“Aye. One can’t answer the door when one isn’t awake in the chamber.” Abigail wouldn’t lie, but neither would she give away the truth.
“You were sleeping?” Lady Margaret asked skeptically.
“What else would I be doing if I was unwell?” Abigail asked innocently.
“Perhaps you were—sewing,” Sarah Anne answered, but her expression implied far more than her words.
“And I suppose you put your ear to the door to check,” Abigail narrowed her eyes. She’d seen both women do it at other ladies’ doors when they wished to find gossip. In response, Sarah Anne turned her face away from Abigail. When Margaret opened her mouth to continue, Abigail cocked an eyebrow, daring her. Opting not to enter a battle of wits with Abigail, Margaret reached for her chalice instead.
The meal continued, and Abigail spent it chatting with Emelie and Blythe. She kept her head down as she ate but glanced from under her brow in Ronan’s direction. She found him doing the same thing and struggled not to blush or smile. But she nearly bounded from the table when the meal finished. She maneuvered so she would be the last one of the ladies to leave the Great Hall. With everyone else’s back to her, she slipped toward another exit, hoping Ronan saw the direction she headed.
“I’ve already asked your guards to join us, lass,” Ronan’s rich baritone drifted to her ear, and Abigail wanted to sigh. She recalled how he sounded when he sang in the pew beyond hers. “I see you have your arisaid. Are you ready to go now, or would another time be better?”
“Now.”
Ronan chuckled. “That’s what I hoped you would say.” He led them out to the bailey and signaled to his men. One of them ducked into the barracks and returned with the MacLeod guards. With the MacKinnons in front, and the MacLeods behind them, Abigail was nearly hidden by the mountain of men surrounding her. She pulled her plaid over her head and kept her head down. In part she wished to keep the wind from her face, but mainly she sought to avoid anyone seeing her going for a walk with Ronan. She knew her plaid would give her away, but she didn’t feel the need to be brazen about it.
“Please don’t think I’m hiding and ashamed to be seen with you,” Abigail murmured.
“I wasn’t thinking any such thing,” Ronan replied. “I think you’re being circumspect, and I appreciate the discretion.”
“It’s hardly discreet, being the only woman among more than a dozen warriors, but I suppose I’m well hidden.” Abigail canted her head and turned her face toward Ronan, grinning ruefully.
