He began preparing another plate. Alana stared at the food, unable to fathom his words. Did he still think she had been spying? If so, why had he kissed her at Boath Manor, and why was he so kind to her now?
Iain began to devour his food, without pause, fast and furiously. Alana lifted her knife and stabbed a piece of venison. She had no appetite. They would be finished dining, soon. And then what?
Something was changing between them. It was almost as if they were friends, and upon the brink of becoming lovers.
If he asked her to bed, should she accept?
He was the enemy, and she only had to look over her shoulder at Robert Bruce to know so. And she was keeping so many secrets from him. He did not know she was Buchan’s niece—or that she was a witch.
Her mind raced, her thoughts jumbled up with conflicting worries and strange yearnings—Iain, Bruce, her identity, her visions, Iain’s kiss....
“Why won’t ye eat?” Iain asked flatly.
Still acutely aware of how they sat next to one another, Alana managed a tight smile. “Why will you let us return to Brodie tomorrow?” she asked softly, so no one could overhear.
He shoved his plate away, pouring more wine into his mug from the pitcher. He took a sip and turned to face her. “Is there a reason ye should be kept a prisoner? Ye keep telling me yer no spy.”
“Of course not!” She flushed. “And I was not a spy. It is just that...today you are kind.”
His face tightened. “Ye were beaten and imprisoned. I think ye have suffered enough unkindness today.”
“They say you are ruthless!” she exclaimed, shoving her own, very full, plate away.
He looked down at his plate. “Are we on the battlefield? Are ye a soldier—a knight?”
She somehow shook her head.
He faced her and said, abruptly, “Ye will not eat?”
She took a breath. “I cannot.”
He leaped to his feet, and pulled her to stand, as well. His blue eyes were as dark as storm clouds. “Then we are done here.”
Her heart thundered as he grasped her arm and guided her through the crowd. His strides were rushed, and Alana almost ran to keep up.
Once in the hall outside, they were alone, the sounds of laughter and conversation dull and distant. Iain halted, still holding her arm. “I did not expect to meet again, so soon after the battle at Boath Manor.” His hand climbed to her face. He caressed her cheek and moved a long tendril of hair aside. It had been caught on her breast.
She shivered. “What did you think?”
“I thought,” he said, his stare far too direct, “that I’d visit ye at Brodie Castle.”
Her mind was dazed. There was no doubt as to his meaning—as to why he would have come to Brodie to see her. “That might have been difficult.”
“I doubt it would be difficult, Alana.” He leaned over her, bracing the corner of the hall with both hands, locking her between his arms. “And if I had come...would ye let me in?”
Inches separated his chest from hers. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper.
Triumph flared in his eyes, and he wrapped her in his arms, kissing her.
Alana had thought their one previous kiss hard and demanding, but it was nothing like the kiss now. His mouth opened hers, forcefully, instantly, and his tongue swept deep, filling her. She found herself against the wall, off her feet and holding on to his shoulders. He kissed her again, and again, and again, until she could not stand the intensity of her desire, until she began to pant and whimper. Her body had become hot and swollen, explosive. She had never felt so desperate to be with a man.
He pulled away. “Ye can check on yer gran later.”
She realized she was not being given any choice in the matter of going to his bed—not that she even knew if she could, or would, deny him. But his arm was a vise about her waist now as he pulled her downstairs.
“Where are we going?” she managed to ask.
He rushed her down a steep stairwell. “Every room is full. Do ye wish for company?” His smile was brief. “I want ye to myself.”
