“Aye, I do. Now, if ye will tell me what troubles you, I can get to her all the sooner.”
“But ye arenae getting to her. That is the problem. The poor child begins to think ye are purposely avoiding her.”
“Ah, I see. Weel, if you sweet ladies would but step inside”—he gently shooed them out of his way—“I will immediately solve that problem. And,” he added as he started up the stairs, “no one had better bring me any more problems until at least three days have passed.” He winked at them over his shoulder, grinning when they both laughed.
He stepped into his chambers and frowned. Jennet was sprawled on her stomach on the bed. She did not even look to see who had entered. He did not need to see her face to know her mood. Her whole pose spoke of feelings of dejection. He had not considered that possible consequence of his subterfuge. Then again, he mused, the fact that she would react so strongly gave him hope. If she did not care for him, his lack of attention would not trouble her so much.
“Come along, Jennet,” he said as, after striding over to the bed, he picked her up in his arms.
“What are ye doing?” she cried, quickly putting her arms around his neck as he marched out the door.
“Carrying you.” He started down the stairs, briefly sending his mother and Elizabeth a look that made them hurry out of sight.
“I had guessed that for myself. Hacon!” She blushed, embarrassed when he stepped outside. Several people paused in their work and grinned at them. “Will ye put me down? I am able to walk for myself.”
“A mon should always carry away his plunder. I think it might even be a law.”
“I think ye have finally had one knock offside the head too many,” she retorted. “Where are we going?”
“To the tower house.”
“Is it finished then?”
“Finished enough.”
That answer did not make any sense to her. She decided to simply play along. Hacon was clearly suffering from some brain fever. As soon as she could get him to lie down or stay put in one place, she would send for Serilda and Elizabeth. Together they would be certain to concoct some potion to bring him back to his senses.
Her concern over the state of Hacon’s mind was briefly diverted as they entered the tower house. It looked nearer completion than it had even before Hacon had been dragged off to Dunfermline. They made their way up the stairs, built so that any attacker climbing them would find his sword arm against the wall. Jennet knew what a fatal disadvantage that could be. It reminded her that, despite the elegant tapestries and warm carpets, the keep had been built for defense.
When he finally stopped, she took a good look around. They were in a large chamber with a huge bed. A large fireplace filled one wall. Animal skins covered the stone floor. She was just about to ask him where he had gotten the fine wool tapestries on the walls when he walked over to the bed and dropped her onto it. Once over her surprise, she eyed him warily as he sat on the edge of the bed and began to untie his cuarans.
“’Tis verra nice,” she murmured. “Ye have done a lot of work.”
“I told you I was working hard.” He unlaced and took off his tunic.
“Aye, ye did.” As he shed his undertunic, she demanded, “What are you doing?”
“Taking my clothes off.”
“I can see that,” she snapped.
“And it might be wise if ye took yours off too.”
Trying hard not to be diverted by his increasingly naked form, she asked, “And why should I do that?”
“Because I wouldnae wish to tear them in my eagerness,” he replied even as he tossed aside his braies and sprawled on top of her. “And I am feeling verra eager indeed.”
Suddenly she was angry, despite how his nakedness and soft words stirred her desire. He had ignored her, even pushed her aside. Now he decided he wanted her. She deeply resented being used in such a way.
“Mayhaps I am too tired.”
“Then I had best rouse you.” He started to unlace her tunic.
“Oh, I see how it is.” She unsuccessfully tried to halt his slow but dogged removal of her clothes. “Ye have suddenly decided ye want a wee tussle, so up and grab the wife. Weel, I willnae be treated like—”
He kissed her, interrupting her tirade. She tried not to let her needs rule her, tried to fight her desire for him, but it was impossible. By the time he ended the slow, hungry kiss, she had a less than firm hold on her righteous anger.
“Hacon, ye arenae listening to me.”
