“Weel, a wee kiss would do much to ease the pain I am in.”
A vast array of tart responses came to mind, but she said none of them. Instead, she cupped his face in her hands, put her mouth on his, and gave him a slow, deep kiss. The look of utter astonishment she briefly glimpsed on his face gave her nearly as much satisfaction as the kiss. After she slowly pulled away, she gave him a sweet smile and left him alone. That ought to keep him confused, she thought with a soft laugh.
Then she sighed, her amusement fleeing. Perhaps she ought to let her heart dictate her actions, say what she now ached to say, and take her chances. She hastily pushed that idea aside. It was a bad one for a number of reasons. She would not hand her heart to a man who had expressed only the desire to seduce her. That man was also a knight, a man who lived by the sword, the sort of man she had learned to scorn. She could not separate Hacon the man from Hacon the knight.
And then, she recalled with a frown, there was his lie about not being at Perth. She had not confronted him with it, but she could not forget it either. It was not a complete lie, for he had not taken part in the murders that might have claimed her father’s life, but it was still not the truth. She had to question her short-lived judgment of him as an honest man. That left her wondering how well she could trust her other judgments about him.
Once at Murdoc’s side, she shooed Ranald away and picked up the smiling baby. “Ah, weel, laddie, ’tis a fine knot I have gotten myself into. That long blond knight is about to win the game of seduction. Howbeit, I mean to take full advantage of these next few days. Aye,” she added when Murdoc babbled at her, “I shall tease and torment that mon until he sweats. Aye, he has won, but he will walk o’er a few hot coals ere he gets the prize.”
She glanced toward Hacon, saw him trying to resettle the blanket over his groin, and quickly turned away, hiding her grin against Murdoc’s soft curls. “Aye, my wee bonnie mon, hot coals indeed. And since I mean to pick the time and place for conceding, I had best set about it. Once Hacon is healed, the poor mon will be after me like wolves after the weakling of the herd.”
“Here now,” Dugald said as he stepped up to Hacon, who had finally stopped angrily tugging at his blanket. “Ye should be still. What ails you?”
“That cursed lass,” muttered Hacon as he tried to relax.
“Cursed?” Dugald sat down, frowning. “And here I was thinking ye may not be the madmon I thought. She kissed you. I saw it. Or mayhaps I saw it wrong and she bit you.”
“Nay. She kissed me.”
“Ah, I see. And that angers you.” He shook his head and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yearemad.”
“Dugald,shekissedme. ’Tis the first time she has done so of her own free will. Can I do aught about it? Nay. I am stuck here.” When Dugald slowly grinned, then chuckled, Hacon snapped, “Ye think that funny?”
“Wretched wee lass,” Dugald murmured, then chuckled again. “She has turned your own game back on you.”
“What?”
“Weel, these past two months ye have been doing all ye can to make the lass want what she shouldnae be wanting and do what she kens she shouldnae do. She couldnae get away, could she? Nowyeare the captive. Nowyecannae get away. Aye, I said she was a spirited lass.”
“Ye show a marked lack of sympathy for a friend and kinsmon.”
“Ye began this. Ye wish to take her only dower away. Aye, and ye left her fearing rape for many a day, though she had the wit to guess your game. I cannae blame her for wanting to make you suffer a wee bit in return.”
“A wee bit?” Hacon muttered. Then, looking toward Jennet, who was engrossed in feeding Murdoc, he grew thoughtful. “’Tis strange though,” he mused aloud. “Strange that she would pull me toward her even for the reasons ye give. She has the wit to ken I willnae be helpless for verra long and that I will be coming after her. Unless . . .” he frowned and rubbed his chin.
“Unless”—Hacon smiled—“she means to honor that unspoken aye. She just intends to make me pay dearly for it.” When Dugald grew solemn, Hacon drawled, “I see. Your pleasure lies only in seeing me being tormented.”
“Ye mean to steal her only dower. I cannae feel that is a good thing.”
“And I have told you that I dinnae mean to toss the lass aside with no thought to her future. Do ye not trust me on that?”
“Aye, aye, I trust you. Howbeit, ye may be wrong. She kens weel that ye arenae one to toss her down and have at her whether she is willing or not. So, cousin, she could still say nay when ye are weel enough to set after her.”
“I dinnae see it that way. So, since I am soon to gain my prize, I shall need a private place. Ye must keep watch for one.”
“Imust watch, must I?”
“Weel, I cannae.”
Muttering a curse, Dugald stood up. “If ye are right and she means to give you the loving ye have been after so long, there is one thing ye had best be sure of.”
“And what is that?”
“That ye are weel and truly healed. Ye have kept a rein on this lusting of yours for so long, ’twill be fierce when ye let go. Considering how heartily ye will be indulging yourself, ye best be certain those wounds are closed tight or ye will end up bleeding all o’er the wee lass.” With a chuckle he abruptly left.
Hacon laughed too, then grimaced as even that slight movement added to his pain. He hoped Jennet did not intend to tempt him too arduously. Feeding his sexual hunger for her would be much akin to rubbing salt in his wounds. He did not really think he deserved that. After all, if she did not feel some passion for him, then his pursuit of her would not have troubled her so and she would not be feeling a need to exact vengeance.
He closed his eyes. He did feel weak. Despite his pain, he knew he could sleep. He also knew he would be wise to grasp whatever rest he could. If he and Dugald were right about what Jennet planned, he doubted he would get much healing sleep whenever she was around.
