She couldn’t argue with him.A physician’s life was chaotic.Late nights.Early morns.Births.Deaths.Impossible demands.Unreasonable expectations.
“O’ course.”She nodded her head in farewell.“Sleep well.”
He entered his chamber and locked the door behind him.
She grimaced.She’d lightly entertained the idea of sneaking into his room while he was asleep and rifling through his satchel.But that couldn’t happen now.And by the morrow, if hehadabsconded with any valuables, he would surely hide them before he emerged.
She let out an unhappy sigh as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber.At this rate, it would be years before they solved the monastery thefts.
She couldn’t wait that long.It wasn’t that she cared so much about catching the thief.But every day wasted was a day she and Hew couldn’t be together.
She had to do something.Find a way to speed things along.If she couldn’t hurry along the investigation, perhaps she could expedite the courtship.
The weather conspired against Hew for several days.So much rain poured from the heavens, he began to grumble to the monks about the possibility of building an ark.Nearly another fortnight went by before the roads were passable and Hew could come up with a believable excuse to visit Dunlop again.
He claimed the laird had requested more honey.Since Dunlop frequently loaned their physician to Kildunan, the abbot repaid his services with honey collected and jarred by the monastery.So with his axe over one shoulder, a satchel of honey jars over the other, and a smile of anticipation on his lips, he made his way toward Dunlop.
Lady Carenza greeted him with a gaze of such adoration and yearning and eagerness, it would make a monk forswear his vow of chastity.Her face was bright with love and longing.Her smile twitched with secret promise.And he could see her racing pulse in the delicate skin of her delicious neck.
He ached to press a kiss to that spot.To pull her in and hold her close against his throbbing heart.To devour her mouth with all the hunger and passion he felt for her.
“Sir Hew!”The laird came down the steps, emerging in the great hall.“Ye’ve returned to us.But what have ye brought?”
He slipped the satchel off of his shoulder, rattling the jars.“Honey.”
“Marvelous.Kildunan’s honey is the ambrosia o’ the angels.”Then he turned to his daughter.“Carenza, will ye show Hew to the pantry so he can unburden himself?”
She gave him a polite smile and a nod.But Hew saw sparkling in her eyes and hastening of her breath that told him she was going to kiss him soundly as soon as they were alone.
So she did.He closed the door behind them.But the satchel of jars didn’t even make it onto a shelf.He managed to lower it gently to the floor as she rained kisses all over his face.Then he completely forgot about it as she scrabbled breathlessly at his clothes, slipping her hands under his leine and into his trews.
Never had he come to life so quickly.Never had he dived so deeply into the pool of desire.All sense left him except one urge—to couple with her.
She would have let him.He knew that.
He had to be the strong one.But it was so hard to be strong when he was…so hard.
Knowing that swiving wasn’t in their immediate future forced him to be creative.
He found an interesting use for one jar of Kildunan’s honey.It turned out the laird was right.Itdidtaste like ambrosia of the angels.Especially when licked off the breast of the woman he loved.
In the days and weeks after, they continued to play their love games.He visited at least once a sennight, and they reveled in each other’s company.
They trysted everywhere.In the stable.In the buttery.Behind a holly bush.Against a fir tree.Under the moon.In the fog.
They celebrated their newfound romantic diversion.Experimenting with feathers.Fur.Mirrors.Scented oils.And handfuls of snow.
Still, more than anything, he wanted to be able to take Carenza’s hand in marriage.To forge their futures together.To offer her his whole self—body and soul.
But despite all his best efforts, he continued to be stymied in his hunt for the church treasures.Unless he could locate them, there was no provable crime.He’d begun to wonder if the abbot had stolen the artifacts himself and only hired Hew as a foil to cover his tracks.
Then one midwinter day, when the snow had driven everyone indoors, and they were desperate to find a place to be alone, Carenza dug an old iron key out of a small wooden box.
She bade him follow her—at a safe distance—to the buttery.
But they weren’t going to the buttery.The key fit the lock of a storage room located beside the buttery.
“’Tis where my mother’s things are stored,” she whispered.“My father locked them away when she died.And no one e’er goes in.”
