“Soon.”
She nodded and turned away. She looked so dejected that he reached for her before he caught himself and had to pull his hand back sharply to his side.
Bloody hell. What was it about her that made him act like an idiot even when he knew better? Where the hell was all that hate and bitterness when he needed it? Without it he was weak.
He could never forget what had happened. Loch Ryan would always be between them. She might not be the treacherous bitch that he’d thought for years, but her mistake—his mistake—had cost too much.
But he had better find some damned self-control or the next few days—weeks—were going to be torture.
20
TORTURE WASputting it mildly. Even though Eoin found every possible excuse to stay away, every time he walked into that tent and saw her—or caught the faint whiff of whatever floral concoction she’d decided to wallow in that day—it was as if someone was punching a hole through his resolve. Pretty soon, there wasn’t going to be anything leftbutholes.
Two days ago, he’d made the mistake of returning to the tent after breaking his fast only to find her in the bath. Somehow she’d talked the lad who was serving as his squire of sorts into “borrowing” someone’s wooden tub. Unfortunately, it didn’t hide much of her, and the pink expanse of creamy skin that he’d glimpsed before turning on his heel and walking—all right, bolting—out had been haunting him ever since. Nightandday.
He was having a hard time remembering why touching her was a bad idea. The little voice that kept telling him he could have her and still walk away was getting louder.
It was just lust. It didn’t need to be anything more. Emotion didn’t need to get in the way—not if he didn’t let it. After six years he’d earned it, hadn’t he?
But even if she’d welcome him into her—his—bed, which he wasn’t all that sure she would (she no longer looked at him as if he were a treat she couldn’t wait to devour, which he was sure he was grateful for, damn it!), he knew it would only complicate matters between them.
An annulment was no longer an option. He would not make his son a bastard. But that left him with the difficult prospect of seeking a divorce. It wouldn’t be easy to obtain—and might take years—but he didn’t have any other choice. Not if he wanted to be rid of her. Which he did, didn’t he? He’d thought of nothing else for six years.
But seeing her again...
It was harder than he thought it would be. Harder than it should be, damn it. And Eachann made it doubly so. He wanted to know his son. He couldn’t just walk away from him, but neither could he take him away from his mother.
Bloody hell.
By the time Bruce and the rest of the Guard arrived an excruciating three days after she’d moved into his tent, Eoin was at the end of his rope. His temper—which admittedly had veered toward “on edge” since Loch Ryan—was decidedly black. Foul might be a better description. Even Lamont had avoided him for the past few days.
Eoin was chomping at the bit to put his plan in motion. The sooner the siege was over, the sooner his son would be safe, and the sooner he could be rid of the woman who was driving him mad with temptation.
Despite Edward Bruce getting to his brother first, and the king’s fury upon learning that Margaret was in camp, Eoin was able to convince Bruce to let the Guard attempt to take the castle by subterfuge. After similar successes at Douglas, Linlithgow, and Perth castles, the king trusted the judgment of his elite warriors. Bruce had no love of investing castles, and he was almost as anxious as Eoin to see an end to the siege. Once Dumfries fell, the other castles in Galloway would follow, and the king was eager to turn his eye toward the biggest prizes: Stirling, Edinburgh, and Roxburgh castles. With those lost, the English grip on Scotland would be broken and the kingdom would be his.
But first was putting an end to the MacDowell hold on Galloway. Eoin’s plan was straightforward, and it didn’t take long for all the details to be worked out. Margaret had provided some additional information about the castle, but it was pretty much as he remembered it.
A short while later, the warriors left the king’s tent to get some food and rest before making their attempt later that night. In addition to nine of the ten remaining Guardsmen—MacLeod, MacSorley, Campbell, MacRuairi, MacKay, Sutherland, Lamont, Boyd, and Eoin—Douglas and Randolph would also take part in the raid.
Eoin was walking beside Douglas when he heard MacSorley let out a low whistle. “Damn, Striker, is that her?”
Eoin looked up and followed the direction of MacSorley’s gaze. He stiffened, seeing the familiar deep red tresses shimmering like gold and copper in the falling sunlight. But it wasn’t the absence of the veil that chilled his blood, it was the closeness of that head to another. His eyes narrowed on the dark-haired warrior beside her.
“Aye,” he snapped. “That’s her.”
For once the always-ready-with-a-quip seafarer wasn’t jesting. Actually, the glance MacSorley gave him was full of sympathy. “Looks can sure as hell be deceiving. Hard to believe she sent so many men to their death.”
Eoin had to quash the impulse to defend her. He knew his friends wouldn’t understand. Hell, he wasn’t sure he understood.
“Who’s she with?” Boyd asked. “He looks familiar.”
Douglas drew tense beside him and answered, “Thom MacGowan.”
Boyd’s brow shot up. “The childhood companion your sister mentioned to my wife?”
There weren’t many men who would dare to shoot a withering glare toward the strongest man in Scotland, but James “the Black” Douglas did just that. “Aye, he’s the blacksmith’s son from our village. We were friends before I left to squire for Lamberton, but he is no ‘companion’ to me or my sister now.”
Douglas’s vehemence spoke more than he intended. Eoin suspected Douglas’s sister, Elizabeth, had something to do with his animosity toward the other man.
