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Authors: Elaine Coffman
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all.”
“I would not have him thinking me something other than I
am,” she said, trying to maintain her dignity and finding it difficult with her
hair hanging limp and wet, and knowing her damp clothes gave off the odor of a
wet sheep. “I admire honesty in others. I can expect no less from myself.”
He lifted his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with the
back of his fingers. “Take heart, lass. As you once said, the Black Scot is not
as heartless as his name implies. I doubt your revelation would start a war
with the English,” he added with good humor. She said nothing.
Stephen continued in a light tone. “He might have me drawn and quartered, but he would no harm a hair on your golden head.”
“He might if he knew what was in my heart.”
His hand dropped to his side, but the look in his eyes told
her he desired her. No amount of harsh or jovial words could dissuade her from
believing that. She had no doubt that if she were not the betrothed of the
Black Scot, Stephen Gordon would do more than stroke her cheek.
And that is what hurts the most. I want him to do more.
As God is my witness, I do. I do…
The sound of his voice pulled her back from her thoughts.
“And what is in your heart that is sure to provoke his anger?” he asked.
She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. “Don’t mock me,”
she whispered, intending to run away.
He caught her before she could move. “Come here, lass,” he
said.
“No.”
Unexpectedly, his arms came around her and he drew her against
him, kissing her slowly, thoughtfully, and quite thoroughly. She felt herself
drawn to him, as if she were sinking into a warm, long-awaited bath.
Then suddenly his grip tightened. He loomed over her, dark
and dangerous, crushing her mouth until her senses reeled. His tongue forced
her lips apart, expertly probing with ravishing implication. His gentle
softness had become punishing roughness.
She knew that he deliberately meant to frighten her and thus
snuff out the desire that still burned inside her.
He did not want her to want him. She understood that. She
was forbidden to him, dangerous and destructive, yet there was something within
him that was unable to resist. His struggle touched her.
Is that what love was?
Her thoughts vanished as he continued to kiss her, allowing
his mouth to do to her the things the rest of his body could not. She arched
against him in complete surrender. Her hand came up to rest against his
bristled cheek. His jaw was hard and masculine. Her hand slid around his neck.
His hair was silky and cool to the touch.
She knew they should not be doing this, but something strong
within her pushed her farther into his embrace, until it was difficult to know
where she ended and he began. Everything he did touched her more deeply than anything
she had ever experienced. She made a small sound of need. He responded by
drawing her even closer, close enough to feel the hardness between his legs.
She moaned again, floating…drifting…wanting…
Suddenly, he broke the kiss, and she understood that he had
not mocked her, that he had revealed his feelings in the only way he knew how.
His voice came to her from out of the mist that seemed to
surround her. “Now you know,” he whispered, releasing her completely.
A moment later, she was left standing cold, wet and lonely
in the rain.
Chapter Six
Juliette entered the roofless abbey and found Edith, who was
leaning over a fire that boasted a cooking pot. She paused in the archway,
watching Edith stir the pot and talk to Angus.
Angus wasn’t saying anything back, of course, but that
didn’t dissuade Edith.
With a tired groan, Juliette found her tartan spread in a
corner and sank down upon it, gazing at the starless sky overhead. Stephen had
warned her not to expect a roof. Well, at least it had stopped raining.
With a weary sigh, Juliette watched as Edith handed Angus
the spoon and instructed him to stir the pot. Then, she turned away, coming
toward
“I would not have him thinking me something other than I
am,” she said, trying to maintain her dignity and finding it difficult with her
hair hanging limp and wet, and knowing her damp clothes gave off the odor of a
wet sheep. “I admire honesty in others. I can expect no less from myself.”
He lifted his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with the
back of his fingers. “Take heart, lass. As you once said, the Black Scot is not
as heartless as his name implies. I doubt your revelation would start a war
with the English,” he added with good humor. She said nothing.
Stephen continued in a light tone. “He might have me drawn and quartered, but he would no harm a hair on your golden head.”
“He might if he knew what was in my heart.”
His hand dropped to his side, but the look in his eyes told
her he desired her. No amount of harsh or jovial words could dissuade her from
believing that. She had no doubt that if she were not the betrothed of the
Black Scot, Stephen Gordon would do more than stroke her cheek.
And that is what hurts the most. I want him to do more.
As God is my witness, I do. I do…
The sound of his voice pulled her back from her thoughts.
“And what is in your heart that is sure to provoke his anger?” he asked.
She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. “Don’t mock me,”
she whispered, intending to run away.
He caught her before she could move. “Come here, lass,” he
said.
“No.”
Unexpectedly, his arms came around her and he drew her against
him, kissing her slowly, thoughtfully, and quite thoroughly. She felt herself
drawn to him, as if she were sinking into a warm, long-awaited bath.
Then suddenly his grip tightened. He loomed over her, dark
and dangerous, crushing her mouth until her senses reeled. His tongue forced
her lips apart, expertly probing with ravishing implication. His gentle
softness had become punishing roughness.
She knew that he deliberately meant to frighten her and thus
snuff out the desire that still burned inside her.
He did not want her to want him. She understood that. She
was forbidden to him, dangerous and destructive, yet there was something within
him that was unable to resist. His struggle touched her.
Is that what love was?
Her thoughts vanished as he continued to kiss her, allowing
his mouth to do to her the things the rest of his body could not. She arched
against him in complete surrender. Her hand came up to rest against his
bristled cheek. His jaw was hard and masculine. Her hand slid around his neck.
His hair was silky and cool to the touch.
She knew they should not be doing this, but something strong
within her pushed her farther into his embrace, until it was difficult to know
where she ended and he began. Everything he did touched her more deeply than anything
she had ever experienced. She made a small sound of need. He responded by
drawing her even closer, close enough to feel the hardness between his legs.
She moaned again, floating…drifting…wanting…
Suddenly, he broke the kiss, and she understood that he had
not mocked her, that he had revealed his feelings in the only way he knew how.
His voice came to her from out of the mist that seemed to
surround her. “Now you know,” he whispered, releasing her completely.
A moment later, she was left standing cold, wet and lonely
in the rain.
Chapter Six
Juliette entered the roofless abbey and found Edith, who was
leaning over a fire that boasted a cooking pot. She paused in the archway,
watching Edith stir the pot and talk to Angus.
Angus wasn’t saying anything back, of course, but that
didn’t dissuade Edith.
With a tired groan, Juliette found her tartan spread in a
corner and sank down upon it, gazing at the starless sky overhead. Stephen had
warned her not to expect a roof. Well, at least it had stopped raining.
With a weary sigh, Juliette watched as Edith handed Angus
the spoon and instructed him to stir the pot. Then, she turned away, coming
toward
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