In the Laird's Bed Read Free Page B

but continued out of the great hall.
    Just outside the hall, she halted.
    “Nay. I am not some idle-minded maiden to follow where a strong knight leads, just because he wills it.” She wrenched her fingers from his grip with more force than necessary.
    “Lady, you are far too calculating and coldhearted a lass to be accused of an idle mind.” Resentment made him incautious. But then, his family had never been known for their restraint. “If you would rather speak of this in full view of your household, let us do so.”
    He pivoted to face her. Arms crossed. Impassive. She did not speak.
    “Perhaps we should take the discussion to your father?” he prodded, wondering how long she could hide the old man from him. “The laird is best suited to speak for his people anyhow.”
    He half wondered if the laird was even in residence. None of the people in her hall tonight had remarked upon his absence. Were they so accustomedto being ruled by an unwed maid and an old adviser that they did not think it strange?
    She bristled. Straightened.
    “Very well.”
    The soft fullness of her lower lip distracted him when he needed to be relentless. He remembered the feel of her against him when he’d shuttled her be hind the tapestry earlier. The scent of her beside him during dinner. The taste of her mead tonight that reminded him of a long-ago kiss. He had walked away from her easily enough five years ago, certain he’d been wronged. As a man in his prime, he had not worried over the loss of a woman who was little more than a girl at the time. A girl he’d only planned to wed for political reasons. He’d had a lover at the time, anyhow—a widow, who had gladly eased the loss of Cristiana.
    But seeing Cristiana now—her strength, her full-grown beauty—had put him in a strange distemper. She had robbed him of more than lands, gold and power. She had cheated him of sharing her bed.
    “When?” he pressed, ready to seek her father’s chamber now to call her bluff.
    “I will ask the clerk for an appointment in the morning.”
    “Did you require an appointment with him earlier today when I arrived at your gate? Do marauders and warmongers need to see the clerk first, as well?”
    “Since you are neither, it hardly matters.” Sheturned on her slippered foot as if to re-enter the hall. “And do not count on the chivalry of my court to protect you from any more outrageous proposals in the great hall. Underneath our fine manners, we are Scots the same as you. Our swords are just as swift.”
    With a snap of her skirts, she flounced away. And while he had accomplished his goal today of gaining access to Domhnaill and securing shelter long enough to search for a treasure, he had made a tactical error in underestimating his enemy. By dropping the guise of courtly visitor in need of shelter too soon, he had alerted her to more of his motive than he would have liked. Because no matter how sweetly innocent Cristiana appeared on the outside, she possessed the heart of a warrior.
     
    “Father?” Cristiana tapped on the laird’s tower door late that night. She knew seeing her da—healthy in body even if his mind was confused—would soothe the unease she felt from the day’s disturbing events. He still had occasional moments of clarity that re minded her of the old days, when he was the most powerful laird on the eastern seashore and nothing could harm his family or his people.
    “Netta?” he called to her from the other side. “Come in.”
    It was her mother’s name. Her mother whom he beckoned. Still, Cristiana entered, crossing the planked floor covered in old tapestries to muffle thesounds of his ranting on his less lucid days. He was not a prisoner here, but for his own health he was well guarded. He’d escaped the keep to wander the coast once, and they’d thought him dead for sure.
    “Father, it’s Cristie.” She righted a fallen flagon on a sideboard.
    The chamber was dark as the fire had burned low. No torches were