Should she insist that he spare himself? Could she?
Something magical and beautiful lay in his kisses—that she could not deny. The more she had of them—and his touch—the more she wanted. Wisdom be damned.
While she was not at all certain they should lose themselves in one another while danger lurked all around—well, vigilance be damned also.
She did not so much as glance at herself in the mirror after Bonnie fussed to her satisfaction. She did not want to see the woman in the glass or probe too sharply into the thoughts in her mind. Thoughts she just might guess if she gazed into her own eyes.
Alan’s chamber felt cool and—well,hollowbest described it. The house being all at sixes and sevens, the fire had been allowed to burn low, so she crouched down and stirred it up with her own hands.
Waited.
And waited.
She did not want to approach the bed which, again due to the chaos in the house, had not been turned down. She had not quite the brazen attitude needed to let Alan find her there like an offering. So she sat on the bench and thought.
Where might Evan be now? She could still hear the rain beating on the windows, a steady dirge. He would have to seek shelter somewhere.
Pray, not here.
Would Earl MacKallan find him? Either drag or persuade him home?
The thought made her shiver and also caused her to recall that she’d left her knife back in the other chamber with her discarded clothing.
Almost, she went back to fetch it. But then the door rattled and Alan came in.
She forgot everything else.
He was once more wetted, having been out seeing to the men on guard, and she leaped at once to her feet, going to him.
“Och, here—let us get ye out fro’ those wet things.”
He shot her one smoldering look from those dark gray eyes before surrendering to her touch, letting her draw the surcotte from him and the shirt beneath.
“Is all well outside?” she asked as she busied her hands.
He grunted. “As much as may be.”
“Are we safe here tonight?”
Her removal of his shirt revealed the bandage beneath, not overly clean and stained with blood. “Och, Alan. This needs to be changed.”
“Ye tend to it, then. The physician left more bandaging.”
“Perhaps we should call—”
He seized her forearms and gazed into her eyes. “Ye see to it. I want no one else.”
That gave her a little, warm rush of pleasure—or perhaps it was something else. The clean bandages were on the table by the wall. She sponged the wound, which looked angry, and bound it as best she could, her efforts failing to match those of the neat-handed physician.
When she finished, she bit at her lip. “Alan, mayhap we should refrain—that is, I will still stay here wi’ ye, in your bed, if ye like. But mayhap—”
“Fie on that.” Perched on the bench where she had put him, he drew her between his knees. Very gently, he touched the front of her night rail.
“Annista, we may ha’ limited time alone. I would nay waste it.”
“Nor I,” she admitted, gone breathless.
“Ye look beautiful. But, for all the bonny lace on this gown, how does it come undone?”
