“I told Lady Fitzhugh to find another chamber,” he said, launching his body away from the wall.
He meant to sleep with her now? After all that he knew? No man wanted a witch in his bed!
“Why do ye look so surprised?” He half turned, never taking his heated gaze from her, and kicked the door closed.
“I did not expect you to want me.”
He approached, his stride uncharacteristically indolent. “Why would that change?” He set the mug down on the table and reached for her.
Alana was pushed down onto the bed as he moved on top of her. “I am a witch,” she gasped.
“Aye, and ye may have bewitched me.” His knees were hard between her thighs. “Ye can confess, Alana,” he murmured. “Even if ye put a spell on me, I am staying with ye tonight. Confess.... Ye cast a spell, and that is why I lust for ye the way that I do...that is why I am so fond of ye.” He suddenly held her shoulders down, his gaze brilliant upon hers.
Her pulse exploded, urgency racking her body. Iain still desired her—the only man to ever do so! And he cared, he had just said so. “I cannot cast spells. I vow it!”
“Liar.” He kissed her. “Witch.” He kissed her again, now reaching for her skirts. “How can I be so hard, so often, unless there is a spell?”
She wanted to answer. She wanted to refute him—debate—but it was impossible, because he was driving into her. Alana held on to his shoulders, arching back in sheer pleasure, her heart thundering.
Iain desired her still. No proof could be greater.
He lifted her and held her close, increasing the pressure, until Alana had to close her eyes and climax. She wept as she did so, clawing his back. And she almost told him that she loved him. Somehow, she retained enough sanity to hold back.
He nipped her neck and pounded into her, finding his own release. She was floating in satiation—in disbelief—when he cried out, collapsing on top of her.
She stroked his back, relief swelling. Then she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.
What did it truly mean that he had come to her now, after her terrible confession?
He rolled off her, out of her embrace, and to his side. “Beautiful witch,” he said softly. He flung his arm up over his head and fell instantly asleep. And then she slowly sat up, staring at him.
His words hadn’t been mean or cruel; she knew that. His tone had been tender. But Iain had never made love to her just once in the course of an evening, much less so quickly. He was both selfish and selfless in bed, with the kind of stamina a woman would expect from a young Highland warrior.
Dismay began. If he was genuinely tired, if his odd behavior had nothing to do with the truth about her visions, then why wasn’t she in his arms? She always slept in his arms.
Alana slowly lay back down, not quite touching him, although the bed was small, making it difficult to keep a finger or two’s length between them. The dismay turned into heartache. Something was wrong, she sensed it.
Did he still wonder if she had cast some kind of spell upon him?
Hadn’t he said that everything had changed?
Grimly, she pulled the covers up and closed her eyes. Too late, she realized she wanted—needed—far more than lust and desire from Iain.
* * *
“WHATDOYOUwant, Alana?”
Alana was stiff with tension as she faced Godfrey from the threshold of his chamber. He had not been sent to the dungeons, for which she was grateful, and had been placed under guard in his own chamber instead.
She had not asked for permission to see him. When she had awoken that morning, after a restless night, Iain had been gone. She hadn’t fallen asleep until the early morning, and that must have been when he had silently left.
It was easier to simply make an attempt to visit Godfrey on her own than seek Iain out and face him after the night they had shared. She did not know what to expect from him when they finally came face-to-face.
Angus had not questioned her appearance outside Godfrey’s door, and now he stood watchfully by her side. Alana smiled tightly at Godfrey. “I have come to make certain you are all right. May I come inside?”
“Do I look all right?” Godfrey demanded. In fact, he was red-eyed, and clad only in a long-sleeved tunic, his hose and boots. His clothing was rumpled, his short pale hair disheveled. He seemed to have passed as miserable a night as she had.
Alana wasn’t sure how to answer. He stood before the table that was beneath an open window, a tray of food there. Clearly, he had not eaten. She glanced at Angus, who nodded, indicating she was free to go inside.
