Read Knight Everlasting Online
Authors: Jackie Ivie
Knight Everlasting (5 page)
There wasn't any reason for such an issue either. She wasn't that special. She was beautiful, true. She was solid in the right parts and soft in other perfect places. That was also true. But the lass had also suffered today, and that made any action toward her wrong. Only the basest craven soul would slake his lust on a woman who'd lost everything and was in too much shock to even realize it. Aidan understood that, but his body wasn't listening. Even now, he felt the heavy pull in his groin and tightening of his lower belly.
It was hard to fight it out here in the rain with an unpalatable meal and a fire that wasn't giving much warmth. It would be near impossible if he got near her again. He'd already admitted it and then he'd tried to deal with it.
And why her?
Aidan wanted that woman. Physically. Hard. Pounding hard. It was instinctive, and irrepressible, and instantaneous. And massive. And still there, dogging his every breath.
He nearly groaned aloud, alerting the man at his side. The woman was still working her wiles and he wasn't even near her. Such a thing was unhealthy and unbelievable. He already knew it happened when he was near her. He'd proved it during the rescue . . . but now? Hours away from her and a good distance of ground apart?
The urge that had started once he dove atop her wasn't changing, or muting, or doing anything except increasing. Intensifying. Escalating. Despite his every effort at putting a rein to it. It didn't make any sense.
Why her?
The fire didn't hold many answers, and he moved his vision back to include the tent door. And
her
. Juliana. She had a fancy name. Old. Roman. From other lands and other times . . . before Druids walked the land, erecting stones and speaking magic. He knew all that from when his parents had been picking girl names for Arran, since Mum had threatened his father with what would happen if she had another son. They'd been certain that time it would be a lass. Aidan had been ten. And the new child was another son. But Lady MacKetryck hadn't lived long enough to find that out.
her
. Juliana. She had a fancy name. Old. Roman. From other lands and other times . . . before Druids walked the land, erecting stones and speaking magic. He knew all that from when his parents had been picking girl names for Arran, since Mum had threatened his father with what would happen if she had another son. They'd been certain that time it would be a lass. Aidan had been ten. And the new child was another son. But Lady MacKetryck hadn't lived long enough to find that out.
Aidan grimaced. No wonder he detested thinking.
He hadn't much choice tonight. There was only one thing his entire frame wanted action on, and that was being denied. Aidan watched the tent flap unblinkingly until his eyes watered. There hadn't been any shadowed movement in there for some time. Odd. He decided to wait. A minute. Then, check.
“Why did you take the lass?”
Aidan barely controlled the jump as Tavish asked it. The man was gnawing at his joint of meat again, getting ready to risk another choking. Aidan sucked on both cheeks before answering.
“I dinna'
take
her.” But he sure as hell wanted to. And damn Tavish for putting it in words! Aidan gulped. “I rescued her. From certain death. Or worse.”
take
her.” But he sure as hell wanted to. And damn Tavish for putting it in words! Aidan gulped. “I rescued her. From certain death. Or worse.”
“That is na' what Kerr says.”
“Kerr. And his stories.” Aidan started rocking slightly, going to his toes and then back flat-footed. To his toes. Back. Toes . . . It had been half a minute at least. There still wasn't any sign from his tent. Had she finally given up her pacing, then?
“What are you going to do with her?”
“I doona' ken yet,” he admitted.
“You already have enough women.”
“I know.”
“They serve your every need.”
“Do you have a point to these words?” Aidan asked. He rocked back onto his feet. To his toes. Back . . .
“Some of them are na' going to much like . . . that.” Tavish pointed toward the tent that Aidan was studying.
“I know that as well.”
“You can always set her free. Kerr tells me that's what she wishes.”
Aidan moved his glance over to his man for a moment and then returned to his tent. The lass's time was near up. If she didn't move soon . . .
“Well?” Tavish asked.
“Nae. She stays.”
“Kerr saysâ”
“Kerr can say all and it will na' change things. The lass stays with me!”
Tavish was studying him. Closely. Aidan fought the urge to return the look. He didn't know why he'd just responded so vehemently either, but it might have something to do with the fact that time was passing and she still hadn't moved or given him one sign that she was still in the tent.
“I've na' heard of you having women troubles afore, Aidan.”
“I doona' have them now. I rescued the lass and I'll keep her safe. Nae matter how much wind is jawed into place by arguments . . . and from whom. Simple.”
Tavish finally pulled another large portion of meat loose and started chewing, smacking his lips like it was a tasty morsel, silencing the man and giving Aidan more time for pure thinking. The shadow was gone. Still. Had she finally given up her pacing? And if so, had she bedded down on the pallet he'd instructed Alpin to take for her use? Or perhaps she'd decided to use Aidan's bed, since his bed roll was already strung up, suspended from poles stuck in the ground and piled with blankets. If she'd done that, he'd use the other pallet that wasn't long enough, nor would it be thick enough to keep his weight from the ground. He might even forgo it and sleep on the ground. Gladly. Because sleeping with chill and damp might help mute everything he suffered.
Her time was up.
Aidan rocked forward and rose to his feet in one smooth motion, slipping his skean back into his belt as he did so. He'd taken two steps toward the tent when the commotion started.
Chapter 5
Juliana groaned, rolled over, and hit her nose into something hard, sturdy, and cold. She cracked an eye open, discovered it was the little chest he'd had at the base of his bed, and not a male Highlander. A further glance showed the bed in exactly the same condition as when she'd last seen it . . . covered with her cloak. She groaned again and stretched, pretending the emotion was due to soreness at sleeping on the ground and not sheer stupidity.
She'd known not to close her eyes!
The delicious aroma of roasting pork floated beneath the tent flap and she sniffed appreciatively. Then she listened. No drip could be heard, and she'd gone to sleep with the sound of running water. That meant no rain. Or if it was raining, it was of mist consistency. That would make it easier to run when she had the chance, but easier to track and catch her as well. Juliana concentrated. She couldn't hear much except the far-off chirp of a bird or two. And then she smelled the roasting meat again. That got her other eye open, and a bit of salivating to her mouth as well.
The younger brother, Arran, had brought her a dry, overcooked hunk of meat last eve. It had been served on a trencher platter that at one point might have been a flat fried oat cake. They'd let it get rain-soggy, though, and it sagged between his fingers. He'd ignored her blank look when he'd set it down on this trunk and left. He'd returned moments later with a tankard filled with what turned out to be watereddown ale. Unless she was mistaken at the first sip, they'd splashed some whiskey into it, too. It had smelled unappetizing, looked worse, and if she hadn't been so hungry, she'd have pitched the whole lot out the door at where their laird sat, watching the fire and looking like he hadn't a care in the world.
He hadn't even the sense to stay out of the elements.
Juliana had shivered in her double layers of dry plaid, purloined earlier from the dead clansman Rory's bundle, and still felt the chill. It had to be wet, uncomfortable, and cold sitting out there in the rain, even if it had softened to a continual shower from the pelting earlier. Anyone else would've had the sense to sit inside where it was dry. Or under a tent drape. Not MacKetryck. He'd chosen to sit out there by the fire, surveying the clearing like he owned it . . . and that gave him a perfect angle to watch her door.
She'd noted that the only time she'd peeked, and then stifled the frustration. He wanted to sit in the rain and guard her door? Well and good. She'd been up against more stubborn men. She'd wait him out. He couldn't watch forever, and Juliana had had all night. All she had to do was get to a horse, get hidden, and wait. She wasn't going to have any trouble with a horse either. She knew how to ride well enough. It had just been years.
But that meant she had to be ready to escape the moment he gave her an opportunity. Juliana had sighed heavily, pulled her finger back from the door slit, and smoothed the flap back into place with hands that trembled only slightly. Patience was one of her strong suits. As was stubbornness, headstrong behavior, quick wit, and a wicked tongue. If he knew who she was, he'd probably have heard all that.
Juliana had turned from the door then, put her hands on her hips, and surveyed her situation. Her shift and underdress were hanging from a hook. Her boots were upside down, near the wall. Her cloak was tossed across his bed, but she'd moved the blankets first. She'd wrung the garment out as best she could, but it was still going to be damp and cold when she donned it. It would warm up quickly though. Highland wool had that reputation. She had her hair combed and plaited again, and felt the satisfactory slap of the braid end on the back of her thigh. It wouldn't take long to put everything back on. She was only waiting until it was dry enough that it didn't make her conditions worse. Escape was the plan. Getting ill was not part of it.
Juliana sighed again. She was going to escape and get back somehow. She didn't dare do anything else. MacKetryck wasn't going to stop her.
And that was that.
Getting warm, dry, and well fed was an excellent start to her escape plan. And here she was getting gifted with all three every time Arran visited. The grand laird Aidan MacKetryck must not know much about women he was keeping against their will if he was going to supply her with everything she needed to escape him. Stupid man.
Juliana had moved to sit as elegantly as possible on the rolled-up pallet brought for her and say grace. Then, she'd started munching delicately on her sup. It hadn't lasted. In her prior life, no one would have recognized the Juliana who'd devoured the meal, chewing venison into a swallowing state with bits of the wet bread, before washing each bite down with ale.
Juliana moved now to sit on her pallet in the dawn-lit tent and licked her lips in remembrance while she listened to her belly growl. It had actually been the best meal she could remember in a long time. But it had also made her drowsy. That was why she'd started pacing.
The fresh smell of roasting pork drifted to her again, more pungent this time, and it was accompanied by the faint aroma of frying bread. Or something they were frying . . . Juliana sniffed, smiled, and sniffed again.
These Highlanders certainly knew the way to satisfy a woman's hunger . . . if nothing else.
Juliana stood, untied the outer covering of plaid, and dropped it at her feet. She'd just untied and peeled open the inner red and black plaid layer as a cheerful voice preceded Aidan MacKetryck's head into the tent flap opening.
“You ken your way about a sickbed?”
He smiled and ran his gaze to her toes and back after he'd asked it, and then he stepped in. As if he'd been invited. His manners hadn't improved, but that smile of his sent a lurch through her frame and the heat of a blush right to her cheeks. All of which was unwelcome and horrid. Juliana forced herself to continue meeting his gaze, despite how it started an odd sensation through her breasts, and a weak sagging feeling to her knees. It didn't seem possible, but he looked even handsomer than she recalled. A night spent in the open must agree with him. He looked freshly shaved, which was ridiculous. Scot men didn't shave. He also looked like he'd made a further effort at grooming by finger-combing his dark brown hair before tying it back into a queue. He hadn't taken the same care with his wardrobe, and what he was wearing didn't cover enough of him. The
faile breacan
he'd draped about his frame was tied lazily at the hip and drooped from a shoulder. It didn't help that he'd forgone a shirt either.
faile breacan
he'd draped about his frame was tied lazily at the hip and drooped from a shoulder. It didn't help that he'd forgone a shirt either.
Juliana held the plaid material together in front of her and considered him, and did her best to pretend the emotion was from being caught in such dishabille and not any reaction to him.
“Well?”
“You don't look sick,” she replied finally.
He grinned wider, her heart thumped oddly, and then he nodded. “'Tis na' me. For the lad, Arran.”
Juliana lifted her eyebrows. “Your brother?” she asked.
He sobered slightly and winked. “Aye. That would be the Arran I refer to.”
If he teased with her, she was in trouble. Juliana hadn't any experience with devastatingly handsome men who flirted with her. Nor had she developed any weapon for such an event. It hadn't been an issue before. None of the males in her past experience had come close to the masculine force that was Aidan MacKetryck.
“Wh-What . . . happened to him?” She stammered through some of the sentence and then actually colored worse.
He pursed his lips into a kissable shape, creating a sensation almost worse than when he smiled. The shiver went shooting down to her toes and back before centering right at her nipples, making them rigid and sensitive against the wool. Juliana had no choice. She pulled the ends of her plaid covering up as she crossed both arms about her. He shifted his gaze momentarily to her move, as if evaluating it, and then he was right back to gazing at her.
“Well?” she asked.
He took a step farther into the tent, which she already knew was six paces deep and five paces across, and that only if she took small steps. His move made it look even smaller as his head grazed the roof. Juliana didn't back from him, not because she didn't want to, but because he'd managed to affect her knees now to the extent her legs were jittering, too. He was also heating up the enclosure, or something else was happening, since the flush covering her entire body was sweat-starting. The sensation of warmth radiating from him had an intriguing aroma, too. She couldn't avoid it since every indrawn breath was coming in rapid succession.
“Well,” he replied finally, and pulled in a big enough gulp of air that his chest lifted with it.
Juliana's lips parted, she reached her tongue tip to the upper one, and then her eyes widened as his body seemed to react, pulsing in place. And then he released his pent-up breath, narrowing his eyes and lowering his chin at the same time. The look he gave her made the earlier sensations a rehearsal for the torrent of heat that spiked all the way through her. She had no choice. Juliana tightened her arms, backed up a shaky step, and tripped, dropping with a graceless plop onto his cot. Worse was when she released the material wrapped about her in order to hold to the sides of his bed as it rocked, crazily tipping her before righting again.
None of which went unnoticed by him.
His glance flickered to throat and cleavage flesh she couldn't cover fast enough. And then he lifted that one eyebrow and smiled. This one didn't have any mirth to it at all and instead looked predatory and sinful. Wicked. Elicit. Male. Primed . . . His plaid was warping into a haphazard pattern where the material hugged his loins, too, catching her eye on the enlarging mass of material, and making everything on her body warp with it. Juliana had never felt as she did now, and it was an all-over emotionâagitated, excited, anxious, tense. Edgy. Frightened.
“Aidan!”
His head cocked sideways with the shout, releasing her from his attention, and Juliana sagged before she caught the motion. She used the next few moments to grip her covering closed clear to her jaw, and steadfastly waited through his evaluation when he saw it. The man had that devilish ability to raise just one brow, and he was still wielding it, pinning her in place and making it difficult even to think of breathing.
“What does she say?”
The speaker was close, if sound was any indication. Juliana watched Aidan take a couple of deep breaths, and when he'd finished, he lifted his head from the visceral stance he'd been in. It felt like further release as he looked down at the ground and stepped back to his original spot. This time when he looked back at her, there wasn't one expression on his face. Then he turned his head and yelled an answer.
“Give me time to ask . . . Tavish!”
MacKetryck's yelling voice was loud in the amount of space he'd had to give it. If she hadn't been holding on to the material wrapped about her, she'd have her hands to her ears. She settled for scrunching up her shoulders. He'd turned back to her and saw that, too. Then he cleared his throat.
“Well?” he asked finally, in his usual tone.
“You've said that . . . already,” she replied. As a flippant remark, it failed. It was too breathless and had a gap in it. She didn't need his instant eyebrow lift to know of it.
“Aye.”
“And?” she asked, pulling the word out so he'd explain.
“'Tis my brother.”
“Arran?”
“Aye. Arran.”
“He's . . . ill?” Juliana questioned since all he did was answer in small sentences that told her nothing.
“Hurt.”
“How?” That word put her lips in a pout. She watched him glance there and stop midbreath, before looking over her shoulder. She had to wait for him to finish his exhalation before he spoke again.
“He took a wild boar down. Last eve.”
“Oh.” That explained the delicious aroma. And if she was in time to prevent the overcooking, it would probably taste as good as it smelled.
“His first,” Aidan continued.
“How bad?”
“He did well. But he was na' prepared.”
“How bad . . . is he hurt?” Juliana clarified.
He touched his glance to her and then moved it to the material of the tent behind her head again. Then he shrugged. “Na' bad. I've seen worse. Had worse. By far.”
“Then why do you need me?”
A half-smile played about his lips, but the moment he looked at her, the flash of amusement died, fading to a blank look. “Arran thinks it bad. Verra bad.”
Juliana nodded. “So . . . what do you need of me?”
This time his grin was wide enough to show teeth, and she wasn't ready for it. Juliana's eyes went huge, the hand holding the material at her throat trembled, and she watched as he took in all of it. And then reacted. His grin died as he lowered his chin and narrowed his cheeks, before turning his head sideways to her. Juliana watched as a dark rose shade suffused him, and it looked to be originating from the middle of his chest.
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