Fear in her wild gaze.
Fear in the tightness of her body. Not arousal. Not pleasure. Almost as if she did not know what he would do. As if she feared him, feared this...
‘I will not hurt you, Saraid,’ he whispered. ‘I want only to give you pleasure.’ Alan eased his hand from her and waited on her reaction and to see if the fear receded or increased. He had never forced a woman, by word or by deed, and he would never do anything without Saraid’s permission.
Then he realised what a fool he’d been. Was this the first time she would be with a man other than her husband? He wanted to smack himself for his stupidity. She was a virtuous woman, anyone could see it in her manners and her ways. He was the first man to touch her so since her husband’s passing and she was nervous and fearful. In spite of any willingness on her part, there had to be some hesitation to accepting another man into her body.
‘Forgive me for not thinking,’ he said. ‘This must be difficult for you.’ Alan settled back on his elbow. She slid a scant foot back and did the same.
‘Difficult?’ Her voice trembled on speaking. Was it from his caresses or her fears, he kenned not.
‘To take another man to you, since your husband’s passing.’
The fear left her eyes, but was quickly replaced by first surprise, then confusion and then, worst, loathing. For him or herself, he could not begin to guess. Alan sat up and waited as she righted her clothing, watching as she covered herself from his sight.
The moment of passion and desire had fled and Alan wondered at the cause of it and its demise. Was it mourning over a dead man or something else? She glanced away as though embarrassed by whathadpassed between them.
‘Alan, I...’
‘No need, lass,’ he said, waving off whatever words she was about to offer. He stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet. ‘You owe me nothing.’
She startled as though stung by his words, hurt darkening the blues and golds of her eyes. Although she took his hand and stood before him, she no longer met his gaze. Struck by the differences in their size then, he stepped back to allow her space.
‘Come, I will take you back to Clara’s,’ he said, waiting for her to walk past him without touching her. ‘And see to Brodie’s call.’
An excuse, nothing more, to let her escape. He wanted her more than he had any woman before, but something stood between them. The obvious thing would be her dead husband, but Alan doubted that man was the reason for her reaction. He searched his memory and realised that not once had she used the man’s name.
‘What was your husband’s name?’ he blurted out. She blinked several times before speaking, a conspicuous delay now that he was noticing such things.
‘Micheil. Micheil MacNeill,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I wanted to know the name of the man who stands in my way.’
They walked in silence all the way back to the path and down to Clara’s as he thought of his words and plans. Something was not right here. Something more that he could not figure out. It teased the edges of his thoughts—bits and pieces and words and images that floated in disarray as they did at the beginning of a search for him.
He bid her a quiet farewell once they’d reached the smithy and walked back to the keep. By the time he reached it, his purpose was clear in his mind.
* * *
It was not until the middle of that night, when he awoke in the darkness of his chamber, that the reason was clear to him.
Saraid MacPherson, wife of the late Micheil MacNeill, was both more and different from what she seemed to be.
That much he’d known for some time. Something about her story and her bearing and her education and knowledge did not make sense to him. The real surprise, the one that woke him in the night, was something else entirely.
He needed to know her secrets because he was in love with her.
And, in order to claim the woman he loved, he would have to know whatever she was hiding before his uncle could discover them and destroy her the way he had destroyed others he’d loved.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Ineed to act on your behalf,’ Alan said, watching Brodie closely as he spoke. Brodie stopped in the middle of taking a mouthful of wine and put the cup on the mantel of the hearth of his chamber before facing him.
‘Should you not be acting on your uncle’s behalf? As his man here in Glenlui?’
‘Do not be an arse, Brodie. Your spies ken more about my uncle and his actions and intentions than I could ever tell you of him.’ Alan drank down the last of his wine and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘This is not about my uncle.’
‘Everything you do is about your uncle, lad,’ Brodie said. Smiling grimly at him, he continued. ‘About your loyalty to him. To your clan.’ Alan cursed and the foul words echoed across the chamber between them. ‘Been listening to Rob, have you?’ The chieftain laughed and put his hand on Alan’s shoulder.
