‘Aye, but not that dark, and I see you very well, Rowenna MacCreadie.’
She gave him a desperate look, almost vulnerable, and it stirred him to the point where he had to touch her. Jasper took a fistful of honey-red hair, coiling it in his fingers. He held Rowenna’s gaze as he drew her towards his chest. She was small and delicate under his hands, almost nothing really. Perhaps she would warm to him, lie down on the hard ground and let him take her. She might welcome his embrace.
By all that was holy, the lass was as bonnie and bright as summer flowers, her cheeks pink with cold. It was wrong, but he did it anyway. Jasper took her lips with his as gently as he could. He wanted some of her sweetness inside him. Her mouth was as soft as down, ripe, and her lips cool and moist. As he snaked anarm about her waist, she trembled, and her hands came to his chest.
Her lips parted slightly to take his kiss, causing a little light to creep into his soul. But it was banished as quickly as it came when she whimpered into his mouth and pushed back a little. Her body felt stiff in his embrace, enduring, not wanting.
‘There, now you have paid the price for a safe escort home,’ he said lightly, hiding his disappointment.
‘Why did you do that?’ she gasped.
‘I don’t rightly know. Because you are bonnie, and I like you.’
Rowenna took the back of her hand and slowly wiped his kiss away. She looked him straight in the eye with utter contempt. ‘You are just sniffing after my brother, aren’t you? So can I go, now that I have satisfied your vanity?’ she said in a strangled voice.
He shrugged, nursing his bruised pride. Jasper mounted his horse, eager to get away from her.
‘Run back to your cursed father, lass, and tell him I await your brother’s return when there will be a reckoning far worse than the one you just got.’
Rowenna hurried to her horse, led it away, and did not look back at him though he willed her to. Deflated, Jasper waited in the half-light, watching bats flit and glide in and out of the trees on papery wings. The snap of a twig breaking gave away Randel’s presence.
‘Finished your business with the MacCreadie lass?’ he said insolently.
‘I told you to keep your distance.’
‘Aye, you did, but there’s enemies hereabouts, so I stuck close – a little too close, it seems. What interest do you have in little Rowenna MacCreadie?’
‘I thought she might lead me to her brother.’
‘I see. So not because she’s easy on the eye, then?’
Jasper’s anger rose. ‘Keep a man here to watch for Bran MacCreadie’s return. I would have word of it. And send men out to ask about Cecily MacCreadie.’
‘Why?’
‘Because knowledge is power, Randel.’
‘Very well. Now, we had best make haste. ‘Tis a long ride back to Kransmuir.’
Jasper could not bear his cold bed. ‘I’ve a mind to pass the night more pleasantly. Let us find company.’
‘A fine plan,’ said Randel. ‘I am glad to see you back to your old self.’
Jasper glanced back at Fallstairs. He could just make out the brightness of Rowenna’s hair as she reached the outer wall. An unbearable longing pierced his soul, bordering on tenderness. He hated it.
Then she suddenly melted into the shadows like a flame snuffed out on a candle.
***
In the witching hour of the night, Jasper lay on his back staring into a black void. The soft snores of a very skilled whore wafted across the chamber. She had red hair, not the smooth, peachy red of old gold, but near enough, and he had assuaged his aching desire most pleasingly. It was not enough to pull him outof his fresh folly, but at least the burst of lust pulsing from his loins gave him enough joy to hold back the tide of self-loathing that threatened to overwhelm him.
His mother, sisters and clansmen depended on him for their safety and prosperity, and his broad shoulders carried that burden daily. But in the dark of night, he always felt it keenly, and there was no one beside him in life to ease its weight.
He had forever been fighting - for land, riches, and power. He had fought for love, too, and he had lost, leaving a mortal wound to his pride and his soul. It seemed so, for he had vowed never to hold out his heart again. A loveless marriage had only served to harden his heart and take another slice of his pride, for his wife had not wanted him, and she had no interest in his thoughts, dreams, or hopes. He was a means to an end. Beautiful, frosty Isobel Marlowe had only sought status, safety, and revenge for being slighted by Seaton Bannerman.
What was this fresh madness come upon him? There was tenderness when he looked upon Rowenna MacCreadie in all her defiant innocence and a desire to protect her from the wolves at her door. Yet there was an urge to devour her loveliness, to own it, and he coveted that same innocence like a low creature that slithers on its belly. Why must he stumble into this pit of confusion by visiting Fallstairs and laying eyes on bonnie little Rowenna MacCreadie? He cursed to the darkness. Now he had tasted her sweetness, everything else would sour in comparison.
The ghost of his love for Brenna Curwen often visited at night. With Brenna, his desire had been tainted by dread. He wanted to be with her yet feared her contempt. He tried to please her, but deep inside, he knew he could not. It was like crossing a lake of thin ice. He’d always known that there would come a time whenhe would plunge to his doom. Yet, onward, he had plodded to the inevitable rejection.
