She was probably right, he thought as he shut himself in his ledger room and poured himself some wine. The first drink went down fast and he poured another before he collapsed in his chair. Simon winced at the wordcowardbut it suited him and that was humiliating. Ilsabeth was a tiny woman yet he kept running from her as if she were some demon out to steal his soul. Nay, he thought, he did not run from her, but from all she made him feel.
He should leave, go to the tavern, and spend himself on a woman there, pounding into some strange wench until he was too weak to walk and Ilsabeth’s taste no longer lingered on his tongue. It was difficult to deny Ilsabeth’s allure because he had been months without a woman. His bout of celibacy had gone on for too long and that was why his control was so ragged and weak. A wild, exhausting night in the arms of some skilled whore was just what he needed.
The moment the thought entered his head, he knew he would not do that. He did not want some tavern wench. Even if he could stir up enough interest to take one, the moment the raw need passed, he would be aching for Ilsabeth again. Simon knew he was trapped. He could not rut her out of his mind and he could not send her anywhere far away from him.
“And I obviously cannae control myself if I get close to her,” he grumbled.
He closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths to tamp down the fire still raging through his body. If he did not find the real traitors soon, he would have to explain to the Armstrongs and the Murrays why he had despoiled the woman they had entrusted to his care. That was not a confrontation he wanted to endure.
Then again, he mused, he could always marry her. A heartbeat later, he cursed. A large part of him was delighted by the thought, easily imagining her tucked up in his bed every night, but another part cringed. Ilsabeth Murray Armstrong would not be the placid, undemanding wife he had often envisioned. She would expect him to give her some part of himself, might even demand love or something closely resembling it. From all he had heard, Murray women were notorious for that.
“God give me strength,” he muttered, finishing off his second drink and contemplating a third. Getting roaring drunk was beginning to look like a good idea.
Ilsabeth tucked Elen back in her bed. “There ye go, lass. Now go back to sleep like a good lass. Ye have Reid here, aye? He will keep ye safe.”
“Aye,” the child said, and looked at her brother.
“He big.”
“He is. Big, and strong, and verra brave.”
It took a little more convincing before Elen let her leave, the fears that had caused the child to come looking for her finally eased. Ilsabeth headed straight for her bedchamber, eager for some time alone with her thoughts. She doubted she would see Simon again for quite a while. It would not surprise her if he stayed away for days this time. The children would miss him and that would make her feel guilty for driving the man away and furious at him for running away.
He did not need to run. She was shamefully willing to give him what he wanted. Unfortunately, his wanting seemed to flare and wane with an annoying regularity.
“I wonder if the other women in my family had this much trouble with their men,” she wondered aloud as she began to shed her clothing.
A glance at her breasts revealed a few reddish marks made by Simon’s beard-roughened skin. The sight made her shiver with a blaze of renewed desire. Ilsabeth knew she would never forget how it felt to have his mouth there. Even the roughness of his cheeks against her skin had felt good, although she suspected his freshly shaved face would feel just as delightful.
“How odd. I have gone from wondering why people seemed so enamored of lovemaking to a complete wanton.”
For a moment she wondered what her father would say if she reached out and took what she wanted from Simon yet returned home without the man as her husband. He would be angry but Ilsabeth doubted it would be because she had handed her virginity to a man who could not love her. No, her father would be angry because he would fear that her heart was broken. Ilsabeth suspected it would be, even though she was not ready to put the name of love to what she felt for Simon.
Simon who was hiding in his little room, she thought crossly as she dressed for bed. She wondered what had happened to him to make him try to remain so cold and distant from everyone. Ilsabeth suspected he would not thank her if she pointed out to him that he failed in that. The way he treated his dog and that ugly cat, as well as how he treated the children, MacBean, and Old Bega, told her that he was no cold, heartless man. He just wanted to be and that was what she did not understand. Even his relentless search for the truth and for justice revealed the man beneath the shell. A man had to have a heart to be so determined that no innocent paid for the crime of another.
She wished her mother or one of her married cousins was near. Ilsabeth wanted someone to talk to, someone who had suffered some of the same problems with her chosen man. Any advice would be welcome for she had little idea of what to do next.
Ilsabeth softly cursed as she crawled into bed. She knew what shewantedto do, what sheneeded.The women in her family did not believe young maids should be kept utterly ignorant until the moment they found themselves in bed with a husband. When Simon had pushed her down on the settee, she had known exactly what would happen and had been eager for it. Her problem was trying to understand why he kept stopping and how she might get him to cease fleeing her arms. That required the wisdom of women who had dealt with men more intimately and longer than she had.
“I am naught but a bairn when it comes to men,” she grumbled.
Knowing there was no sense in losing sleep over the matter, she closed her eyes. Each time Simon drew near her, his passion ruled him a little longer than it had before. There was hope that she would soon learn the great mystery between men and women. Ilsabeth just hoped she did not have to wait too long. Her last clear thought was a mean one. She hoped Simon was as achingly unsatisfied as she was.
Chapter 6
Simon studied the small, stone cottage where Sir Donald Chisholm was hiding his newest mistress. The man was married with eight children. Simon had to wonder why Donald had any need for a mistress unless the man’s poor, beleaguered wife was so worn out she could not accommodate the man any longer. Not that he considered that a good excuse for adultery. It also disgusted Simon to think of the money the man spent on this fleshly indulgence, money that would be better spent on his wife and children.
He rapped on the door. “Open in the king’s name!” he ordered, and nearly grinned at the image of the faithless Donald scrambling into his clothes as he tried to think of a reason why a king’s man was looking for him. Even the innocent felt a twinge of alarm when a king’s man came hunting for them.
The disheveled, half-dressed man who appeared in the doorway a few minutes later was so plain, so intensely ordinary, Simon was surprised the man could breed a child as lovely as Elen. He almost felt sorry for the women in Donald’s life. Simon doubted the man made up for his lack of looks with skill in the bedchamber. A man who would toss away his own child and be unfaithful to a wife who gave him eight children would not be the sort who would care for his woman’s pleasure. He was probably one of those fools who believed a woman felt none or could be happy just because the man in her bed found his.
“Shall we step inside, Sir Donald?” Simon asked, aware that the man recognized him by the way Donald grew a little pale. For once Simon felt no twinge of regret over that reaction to his presence.
Donald stumbled back a few steps as he nodded, staring at Simon in fear and horror. His small eyes were so wide, Simon was sure they had to sting. He looked around the cottage as he walked inside. Sir Donald Chisholm obviously spent enough to keep his mistress comfortable but there was nothing lavish, unless one counted the wooden floors and the glass in the windows as extravagant. Simon idly wondered if the man’s wife was allowed such things or if Sir Donald spent most of his funds on this little cottage for he knew the man was not particularly rich.
“How may I be of service, Sir Simon?” Donald asked as he shut the door and then slumped against it.
Yet again, Simon did not find it irritating to be looked at as if he were the devil himself come to steal the man’s soul. He decided there was obviously some good use to be made of his reputation.
