Laird of Smoke, page 25
Finally it was done.
“A dollop o’ honey, a clean bandage,” he announced, “and Simon should be good as new.”
Eve wasn’t so sure about that.
Simon had roused with a yelp when Adam made the first stitch to close his wound. He was obviously glad to see his wife unharmed and the knife out of his side. But the pain of the needle was fierce. And sometimes infection set in after such a wound. On top of his physical suffering, the sight of his smoldering alehouse was doubtless dispiriting.
With Fonia’s encouragement, he survived the rest of the stitches.
As for Eve, she hadn’t been able to watch. She couldn’t imagine how Adam could endure it. On the other hand, she supposed a Rivenloch warrior had to be accustomed to inflicting and repairing wounds.
She handed him the pot of honey and linen for bandages.
While he worked, her gaze lit upon the dagger lying nearby. She narrowed her eyes at the button set into the haft. When she recognized the king’s insignia, she stifled a gasp.
Had Simon been stabbed by a royal soldier? Were Fonia’s attackers in the king’s army? Was this the kind of war against the Fergus clan Malcolm’s men-at-arms were waging?
It seemed too horrible to consider. And yet the evidence was undeniable.
She had to tell Adam.
He might be the king’s man. But surely he’d never approve of such senseless violence against innocent clanfolk.
She had to make things right. More than ever, she sensed that God had called her here. Led her to this place to redress those wrongs. She would find the men who had assaulted Fonia, stabbed Simon, and set fire to their alehouse. And she would see they paid for their sins.
While Fonia and Adam were distracted, Eve wiped the bloody dagger on the grass and slipped it into her satchel.
Eventually, a group of neighboring clanfolk came to seek the source of the smoke. By then the fire was mostly out, leaving the alehouse smoldering. Exclaiming in dismay and empathy, they comforted Fonia and Simon. They thanked the kindly monk and nun profusely. And they offered the homeless couple lodging and food until they could recover.
Eve and Adam bid them farewell, knowing they were safe in the bosom of their clan.
But as soon as they returned to the path, Eve confronted Adam.
“We can’t go to Darragh yet,” she said.
“Why? They’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Their clanfolk will care for them.”
She pulled the dagger from her satchel. “This is why.” She showed him the royal insignia. “King Malcolm’s men did this. We need to make this right.”
He stared down at the dagger for a long while. Then he sighed.
She was prepared for him to be resistant. After all, though she wasn’t supposed to know who he was, she knew he’d sworn allegiance to Malcolm. She expected he’d try to make some improbable excuse for the soldiers’ actions.
He’d say the dagger wasn’t proof. It could have been stolen by someone else.
Or the stabbing had been an unfortunate accident, despite all appearances otherwise.
Or perhaps Simon had attacked Fonia, and the soldiers had only been defending her.
The last thing she expected was for him to agree with her.
Chapter 20
Adam had hoped the dagger was missing. If Fergus found hard evidence the king was perpetrating violence upon his clan, it would only add fuel to the fire and make peace more difficult to achieve.
But he couldn’t explain that to Eve. She knew nothing about his identity, his fealty, his purpose.
She only knew that, like her, he believed in justice, fairness, and honor.
So what else could he do but agree?
“Aye, ye’re right. This shouldn’t go unpunished. But I fear findin’ them will be like findin’ a drop of ink in a loch.”
Of course, she knew exactly where they were. She’d spoken with the king herself. But she couldn’t reveal that or she’d have to explain what she’d been doing and why she had in her possession a document of marriage for Hew of Rivenloch.
“They must have come with the king,” she pretended to reason. “’Tisn’t an easy feat to hide a royal retinue.”
“And yet,” he argued, “have ye seen a royal retinue in your travels?”
“In the last fortnight, I’ve crossed paths with more than one royal guard in the woods. One followed me into an alehouse before I lost him. And another pair pursued me through the forest ere I gave them the slip.”
That troubled him on two counts. One, he didn’t want to think about other men trying to get their hands on Eve. And two, for someone intent on a stealthy attack, the king was giving his soldiers too long a leash. He needed to warn Malcolm he was playing a dangerous game.
“So where do ye think—”
“Adam!” She interrupted him with a gasp of feigned surprise. “Maybe those weren’t pilgrims I heard in the woods.”
“They weren’t?” He had to admit, she was a convincing liar. He almost believed her naivete, even though he knew better.
“What if they were the royal retinue?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Damn the lass. She was foiling him at every turn.
He nodded sagely. “Ye may be right.”
He did plan to return to the encampment. But he didn’t want Eve with him. He wanted her safely behind Darragh’s strong castle walls.
Still, he knew once she got an idea in her head, she would not be talked out of it. That was how they’d ended up in bed together. While he admired her fortitude and perseverance, in this instance, it was inconvenient.
If he refused to go with her, she’d only find a way to go around him, even if it meant escaping from Darragh and making her way back to the king alone.
He couldn’t let her do that. The king’s men had already pursued her twice. What was to stop them from catching and assaulting her the way they had Fonia?
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Eve was strong and capable. Clever and independent. Wise and quick-witted.
But she was not a Rivenloch.
She might speak and dress and act like a warrior. But she grew faint at the sight of blood.
She had no idea how hazardous it was to tangle with royals. To get embroiled in a clan war. To be a woman alone among soldiers full of fever and bloodlust.
The idea shook him to the core.
Nay, the only way to keep her out of peril was to stay by her side, to accompany her on whatever thorny mission she was on.
Then, when the time came to shield her from real danger, he’d have to waylay her. It would require deceit. Betrayal of her trust.
In the end, it would be worth it to keep her safe. But would their love be strong enough to endure such betrayal?
He wondered.
Her eyes lit up. “We’ll go back then? And search for the king?”
“On one condition,” he told her. “If by some miracle, we find him, and we’re granted an audience…”
“Aye?”
“We’ll ask him to marry us.”
This time Eve’s gasp of shock sounded genuine. She blinked, baffled. “Ye mean it?”
He nodded.
“But…ye don’t e’en know who I am.”
He gave her a tender smile. “I know who ye are,” he said, reaching out to place his fingertips over her heart, “in here.”
Eve’s throat thickened as she returned a trembling smile.
Did he mean that? Did he truly not care who she was? Or was Adam such a loyal vassal to the king that Malcolm would allow him to wed whomever he willed?
She supposed it wasn’t out of the question. After all, the king had approved the marriage between Sir Gellir and a maidservant. But as far as Adam knew, Eve was an outlaw. Certainly a line had to be drawn somewhere.
And if he was so sure of their love, why wouldn’t he tell her who he was?
Of course, she realized. She already knew the answer to that.
Adam was spying for the king.
He couldn’t tell her who he was, because knowing might endanger both their lives.
She followed him down the path with newfound understanding and respect. He was a man of his word, and he’d sworn not to disclose his mission. It followed then that he would keep his word when it came to his promise to her.
Eve daydreamed as they walked through the woods. She imagined the beautiful wedding they’d have. At her father’s humble keep with all her friends and clan? Or at the magnificent castle of Rivenloch with glorious warrior maids and knights in polished armor?
She didn’t care, as long as Adam was by her side.
She would wear her beautiful scarlet gown.
Nay, she remembered, she’d left it at the byre with Carenza. There might not be an opportunity to fetch it.
Lady Hilda’s azure brocade gown would have been stunning. But it was soaked with blood.
Maybe her father would be so glad to see her wed to a Rivenloch, he’d commission new wedding attire for her. Of course, it would have to be tasteful and meaningful.
Perhaps one in emerald silk embroidered with the flowers and birds and woodland creatures the two of them had encountered in their travels.
Or a modest fawn-colored linen to reflect Eve’s years of pious good works.
Brilliant lapis lazuli skirts sewn with gemstones to impress her new clan.
Or something in soft peach-colored velvet to tempt her bridegroom.
She imagined the happy years ahead of them.
Side by side, they would pursue their Greater Purpose. Doing good deeds. Helping those in need. Saving troubled souls. Teaching honor and respect, chivalry and charity to others.
She was imagining the exciting adventures they would embark upon when the road passed by a narrow deer trail.
“There’s a burn not far from here along this trail,” Adam said. “We can eat and drink. And I’d like to wash off the ashes.”
The burbling burn cut deep into the sod, rolling playfully along in the sunlight. Bright birches stood tall along the shore, and willows hung over the water.
Eve found her plaid and spread it on the soft bank. She prepared food from their satchels—hard cheese, oatcakes, butter, dried apples, and a jack of ale.
She was about to tell Adam it was ready when she heard a plash of water.
He’d stripped off his cassock and was wading into the middle of the burn.
Her breath caught.
The shimmering reflection of the sunlit waves danced upon his naked skin, illuminating every curve and muscle. His back looked like the strong trunk of an oak, and below, his buttocks tensed as he made his slow descent into the water—to his calves, his knees, his thighs.
The sight of him was doing curious things to her body. Her heart thrummed against her ribs. Her face suffused with heat. Her breath grew rapid and shallow. Her nether regions began to rouse like a flower after a spring rain.
As he sank lower in the water, his broad shoulders rose, and he shuddered once at the cold.
Then he plunged under all at once.
She gasped at his boldness. That water had to be icy. Now she was sure the Rivenlochs were descended from Vikings.
He shot back up again almost at once and made quick work of scrubbing the ash from his wet hair, his face, his beard. Then he sluiced the water up over his shoulders and chest.
Eve couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. He’d been well named, for he looked as perfect as God’s Adam to her.
Then she remembered she’d held that perfect body against hers. Kissed his delicious mouth. Caressed his supple muscles.
And now he’d vowed to tryst only with her for the rest of his life.
She was the luckiest lass in the world.
The thought of the heaven she’d found in his arms propelled her desire even higher.
Her tongue slipped out to lick her lip in speculation.
She wondered…
She spared a cursory glance around the trees to make sure they were alone. Then, while he rubbed his hands briskly over his ash-coated skin, she quickly removed her coif and veil and slipped out of her habit.
For Sister Eve, it was a brazen thing to do. But for Eve the adventurer, it was just another impulsive undertaking that thrilled her senses and excited her spirit.
She considered joining him in the burn. But she didn’t have his Viking blood.
Instead, she settled herself like a sunning selkie in the middle of the plaid and waited for him to notice.
He emerged, dripping and clean, shaking the water off and slicking back his hair with both hands. Then his gaze lit upon her, and he froze mid-step.
She watched as his chest rose and fell and smoky lust filled his eyes. Never had she felt so exposed and yet so desired.
His eyes grazed her slowly, lingering on each part of her, setting her afire inch by inch.
He approached cautiously, as if he feared he might frighten her off.
When he stepped from the water, she peered up at him with a sultry question. “Are ye hungry?”
One side of his mouth curved up into a devilish smile. “Oh aye, lass.”
He needed no more invitation. Shoving the food aside, he joined her on the plaid.
With an impish grin, he pulled her to him.
She shrieked in protest at his cold, wet skin as he held her close.
“Shh,” he warned. “Someone may hear us.”
“Ye’re wicked,” she whispered with a shiver.
“Ye invited me, selkie.”
“That I did.”
Already she was beginning to warm in his embrace. And when he cradled her chin and kissed her, she forgot about everything but the lovely feast he offered.
“Mmm,” he murmured against her mouth, “this is delicious fare.” He nibbled at her lips, pretending to taste her. “Cherries.” He sampled the top of her cheek. “Peaches.” He moved his hand down the side of her neck, rounded her shoulder, and lowered his palm to capture her breast. “Mmm, manchet.” He bent down to nip gently at her flesh, as if taking a bite of bread.
Her head was spinning. But her appetite was whetted. And she wanted to take him on this sensual journey as well.
She eased her hand down his backside and clasped his firm buttock. “I see ye’ve brought bacon.”
He chuckled low against her ear. “I’ve a sausage as well.”
She could feel it. Pulsing. Warming. Hardening against her.
He turned his hand and glided his palm over her belly into her nest of curls.
“But I think this to start,” he murmured, sliding his fingers to separate her wet, womanly folds.
He lowered his head, moving between her thighs to tease her flesh with his tongue. She arched in ecstasy to meet him, reveling in the contrast of cool water and warm sun and the divine sensations he painted upon her. Again and again, he bathed her, until she thought she could bear no more.
Then he withdrew.
For one distressing moment, she thought he was finished with her. But in the next moment, he eased into her with his firm staff, and she moaned as her desperate wish was fulfilled.
With measured grace, he made love to her on the warm woolen plaid under the dappled sunlight while the babbling burn played a peaceful song.
At first they moved in a soothing rhythm. Theirs was a dance of nature and quiet and calm.
But soon their tender striving intensified, growing more and more frenzied. Eve writhed against the heat. Her fingers clawed at the plaid. And Adam’s eager groans drove the music to a faster pace. The forest around them disappeared, and Eve saw only Adam in this beautiful Garden of Eden.
With a sharp cry of discovery, she soared high above the trees. He followed in her wake, and they flew like a pair of swans across the sky.
Then they shuddered down together. But it was a long while, wrapped in each other’s arms, before Eve began to notice again the murmuring burn and the filtered sunlight and the slight scratch of the wool beneath her.
“Strange,” Adam mumbled. “I’m even hungrier than before.”
She grinned. “That’s a pity, because ye may have kicked the butter into the burn. But I’ll see what I can salvage.”
They dressed, and then she rounded up the scattered food. They only lost a few oatcakes to the mud, and she managed to blow off the bit of dirt that stuck to the hard cheese.
But when they packed up to leave, Eve felt refreshed and rejuvenated, renewed and reassured, secure in the knowledge that Adam had their future well in hand.
Adam wanted to kick himself. He never should have swived Eve.
Not the first time. And definitely not now.
The trust in her eyes tormented him. The joy in her face pained his heart.
He’d distracted her enough for the sleight of hand he required. But that distraction had taken on a life of its own.
He’d never dreamed she would want to lie with him. Not here, in the wilds of the woods. Not now, when she was so determined to meet with the king.
He could have, should have refused her.
Aye, she’d been nigh irresistible, reclining there like an alluring selkie. Her body glowed in the patch of sun. Her dark hair spilled down over her pale shoulders to caress her delicate breasts. Her sultry gaze melted him like butter.
But he had more willpower than that. He was a man of honor. Certainly he could have resisted her. He could have turned and dived back into the burn, letting the cold water shrink away all desire.
Instead, he’d succumbed to temptation, just like Adam in the Bible, accepting the forbidden fruit from Eve. It had been sweet and delicious and satisfying.
But now, having her look up at him with such adoration as they neared the encampment, knowing what he had to do, he felt like the worst traitor since Judas.
“Do ye think we’re close?” he asked.
“Just up ahead,” she told him. “Not far from where we met.”
He let her lead the way, praying for courage.
At sight of the first red-and-gold pavilions, she turned to him with a knowing nod, telling him wordlessly that it was indeed the royal encampment.
