Between a Highlander and a Hard Place, page 16
Life flowed around them. The bread rose, and the scent of dinner filled the passageways. Beyond the towers was a lovely view of newly turned fields.
Athena was tempted to join the melody. Cast her cares and questions to the winds to see where they would land.
But marriage was different for a woman. The wife was chattel and the husband free to treat her as he might. More than one bride had discovered her true worth was her dowry and maidenhead.
There were chambers in the towers that were far too silent, places Symon might place her once he had the gain he thought to get.
It hurt to think of him in such a way, and yet she forced herself to ponder the matter. No matter what, she would never be trustingly naive again.
Not even when it came to Symon Grant.
* * *
Supper in Grant Hall was a time of merriment.
Feenet beamed with pride as platters of meat and new vegetables were carried in. The Grant retainers pounded on the tabletops to show their appreciation.
Once the fare had been passed around, cider came from the kitchens along with cheese and fruit.
“Forgive me, I am so very tired.”
Athena didn’t make eye contact with Symon. She didn’t know if it was true that he could see her thoughts; however, she had precious little experience with lying, so it was best to keep her gaze lowered. One of the retainers who seemed assigned to stand behind them while they ate pulled her chair back.
“The Grant accounts are in such good order, the books wore ye out!” Tamhas declared from the other side of Symon.
“Brenda was likely relieved to see ye had some skill with accounts,” Symon added. “She has no liking for the chore.”
“I am happy to be of service.” Athena lowered herself before hurrying from the hall.
She chided herself when she realized how fast she was moving, forcing herself to slow down and appear ready for bed.
She peeked back at the head table when she was almost around the edge of the passageway. Tamhas was taking full advantage of Symon’s undivided attention, speaking intently with one finger sticking out at his laird.
The moment was perfect.
Everyone was enjoying the cider, and the sound of music and laughter spilled into the hallway. Athena hurried along, recalling the way far more easily now that she had spent more time inside the tower. What had once appeared to be indistinguishable passageways were now something she might navigate successfully.
She made her way to the doors of Symon’s study and opened them in spite of the guilt trying to strangle her.
She couldn’t afford to be timid.
And besides, he’d shown them to her first, so she was not looking at anything he hadn’t been willing to share.
You are making excuses to cover your snooping…
She didn’t shy away from the thought. If Symon was good to his word, she might just give in. Discover happiness wasn’t something she had to forgo in life.
But she felt exposed thinking in that manner. As though she’d forgotten the cost of being whimsical instead of keeping herself firmly focused on logic. For certain it sounded like a simple enough way to conduct herself when she heard lectures on the topic.
Yet the practical application wasn’t proving so easy.
Nearly impossible, actually…
No one had lit the candles, but enough light came through the windows for her to see. Even in the murky light, she made out the letters. They were no longer open on the tabletop. Instead they were folded. Laid neatly on top of some of them was a newly penned and wax-sealed letter addressed to the sender of the letters. She reached for one of the original letters and unfolded it, holding it close to her face so she might read it.
He’d spoken the truth.
“I spent a good amount of time today answering those letters.”
She jumped, whirling around to find Symon perched on the edge of his desk. He enjoyed her shock, his lips parting in a grin.
“As I told ye before, lass.” His eyes flashed with determination. “Ye are no’ so meek, and I know it well. Ye seem to have forgotten how we met.”
“I haven’t…forgotten.” Yet she did attempt to keep her mind from returning to the way he’d been there, in the shadows of the night while she danced. “Although I suppose I deserve to be considered brazen when I—”
“When ye danced around the fire in a shirt,” he finished for her. “I am making sure the rest of the Highlands knows I have settled on me choice of bride.”
“Yet…” She was caught in a moment of utter bewilderment. “You know little of me. There is dowry to be had, but it will not be any great fortune.”
He straightened away from the desk, working at the buttons on his doublet. It had only been closed halfway at his midsection, and he made quick work of it before tossing the garment aside.
“I know,” he informed her firmly as he came toward her, “that I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time today thinking about how much I enjoyed having yer hands on me last night and wishing Feenet had no’ come along to interrupt us, even though I’ll admit me cousin was right to ensure ye had a chaperone.”
He chuckled, the sound full of promise.
Dark promise.
Or at least the sort of promise best fulfilled under the cover of darkness.
He pulled the laces at the collar of his shirt free so it fell open, baring his skin. “Come here, Athena, and do what ye wanted to last evening.”
She wanted to.
No, the word was crave. For the hunger she felt for him was far too deep to be merely want.
She was suddenly full of impulses and half aware that part of her had hoped he’d follow her and confront her.
She felt bound too tightly in the corset and gown.
“Did Brenda advise you to tempt me with things that should not be spoken of? Is this the wooing you think will win me?” She didn’t care for how peevish she sounded. Simple conversation escaped her grasp as her blood hummed through her veins like she’d indulged in too much wine.
Symon only tossed his head back and laughed.
“You cannot be amused by my prickly distemper.”
He looked back at her. “I am, because I see ye’re flustered by me presence. Ye’re trying to be a shrew to convince me to leave.”
He’d edged closer. In the semidarkness, she caught the way his gaze moved over her face, lingering on the burning spot that betrayed how she blushed for him.
She’d been lulled into a sense of safety by his low tone. Symon reached out and gripped a handful of her skirt, pulling her forward a moment later.
So easily she was in his embrace, bound against him as she tried to flatten her hands on his chest to push free.
Instead she heard a little sound of delight cross her lips as she felt his hardness.
“As for Brenda”—Symon tipped her chin up so their gazes locked—“me cousin made sure to inform me that women like to be pleasured as much as men, and I cannae wait to pleasure ye, lass.”
And he didn’t wait to kiss her but claimed her mouth in a kiss that was fierce and strong. She shifted beneath its power, not really trying to escape, merely uncertain how to endure all the need flickering inside her.
She felt like her very body caged her. Freedom was what she craved, freedom from all the things binding her and holding her in line.
His shirt was one of those things, for it was between them. She pushed at it, another sound of contentment escaping her when she succeeded in cupping his bare shoulders.
He was hard, built to endure his environment, and in that moment, she was completely enamored of his strength. Her core contracted, making her aware of how empty she was.
She strained closer to him, desperation making her pull at the fabric of his shirt. He suddenly released her, reaching up and behind his neck to pull at the garment. He bared his chest, tossing the shirt aside and facing her.
“Is that what ye wanted, lass?” he asked.
She nodded.
Oh, she shouldn’t have, and yet it seemed the worst sort of lie to deny the way his kiss made her seek his flesh.
“I like the sound of the idea meself…” He cupped her shoulder and turned her around and pulled the top of her lace free.
“Symon…”
Was it a warning? Or encouragement? Perhaps it was relief because the gown bodice loosened as she felt her nipples contracting. Unlike the first time he’d unlaced her, tonight he pulled at the loops with impatient fingers.
Her dress slumped to the floor in a puddle around her ankles, and her hip roll fell when he opened it.
She shivered, uncertainty breaking through the moment. She crossed her arms over her breasts, the thin fabric of her smock feeling like a whisper between them.
“The firelight showed me yer breasts…” He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her as he flattened his hands on her belly. She shuddered, aching for more and yet caught in the harsh grip of uncertainty.
“I want to fill me hands with them…” His voice was full of dark intention. Anticipation spiked up from where it had been twisting through her core. Now it touched off a craving in her breasts, one she’d never thought possible.
But she wanted him to make good on his promise.
Symon didn’t disappoint her. He smoothed his hands up her torso until he was holding both of her breasts.
“Perfect,” he growled, taking their weight before teasing her hard nipples with his thumbs.
She let out a sigh, leaning back against him, arching to offer her body to him.
Surrender?
No, it was more of a demand.
Or a challenge, and he seemed worthy of it, sending delight through her. Introducing her to a level of pleasure she’d never realized her body could feel. He pressed a kiss against her neck, adding to the craving growing in her core. She would have done anything in that moment to keep his hands on her. Nothing mattered except finding out what else she might experience.
He kissed the side of her neck, and she arched so that he might place another kiss farther down. Her eyes slid shut as she let the current take her.
It wasn’t submission.
He was her companion.
She turned and reached up to lay her hands against his neck, needing to participate more completely. His expression tightened as his eyes closed.
“That’s the way, lass…” He offered encouragement in a husky tone. When he opened his eyes, desire flickered in them, and she knew without a doubt he was seeing the same thing in her gaze.
Someone pounded on the door.
It wasn’t a knock but a solid thumping.
Symon cursed. Low and darkly. “I am going to murder whoever that is.”
“Ye won’t,” Brenda informed him as she came in without invitation. “Ye will thank me for coming down here and bringing the lady a dressing robe.”
Athena likely burned to a cinder in that moment.
“Ye are no’ wed yet, and there will be gossip aplenty if she is seen returning to her chambers looking thoroughly disheveled.”
Symon growled but released Athena. “She came in here of her own will, Brenda.”
Brenda’s poise was noteworthy, because where Athena felt like she was going to burn to a crisp right there from shame, the other woman merely came forward and helped cover her smock with the dressing robe.
“Consider it a step in courting, Cousin,” Brenda advised him. “If she loathed ye, she’d no’ be curious about yer private affairs.”
“Brenda, Symon was not misbehaving,” Athena said.
Brenda made a soft sound beneath her breath. “He knows more than ye do about…well, about matters, and being laird means that there are expectations to be maintained.” Brenda sent her a look that made it clear Symon was not the only once receiving a lesson from her. “We’ll have to go to the bathhouse to make things seem correct.”
Brenda might have been discussing what herbs to use when seasoning a chicken. Her voice was smooth and even, but she suddenly flashed Athena a smile.
“Me cousin and I,” Brenda began, “both had matches arranged for us. It’s the truth that we spent a few evenings discussing how dreadful it was no’ to be allowed our choice.” She looked past Athena to where Symon was pulling his shirt on. “I do hope ye enjoy the opportunity to woo the woman of yer choice!”
Symon answered in Gaelic. Whatever he said, Brenda pressed her lips tightly together to stifle her amusement before guiding Athena down the passageway toward the bathhouse.
Athena discovered herself thinking something profane as well. Clearly there was a reason matches were arranged.
Courting was frustrating beyond belief!
* * *
He could ride to London and contract with Athena’s uncle.
Symon paced across the length of his study and realized he was seriously contemplating undertaking the journey.
But shame was quick to take a jab at him.
Was he not up to courting? He’d seen more than one man treat his wife poorly because he had never had to win her affection. Elizabeth Tudor had half the crown princes in Europe dancing attendance on her because the Virgin Queen of England would be a fine prize to win and her father had never contracted her.
Besides, he knew something earned was better than anything given. That was the difference between him and Galwell. Symon understood the value of winning Athena’s heart.
But Christ, her uncle had done his duty tenfold in keeping her chaste.
He poured himself a measure of whisky and downed it before chuckling at his own expense.
Aye, she was a maiden in every way, and yet she had danced on May Night. She was not wanton. Passion was something she held secret against her heart.
He’d have to entice her to share it with him.
For a moment, he indulged in the memory of her turning to put her hands on him. So very comfortable with letting him hold her breasts.
It had been a victory, earning that trust from her.
All of the battles he’d won paled in comparison. When it came to claiming victory in a man’s world, his confidence was firm.
Now, as he contemplated coaxing Athena into his bed, well, it was the truth that he felt like an untried lad.
Not bed… He wanted to coax her to wed.
He could seduce her. She craved him as much as he wanted her. Left to the moment, he’d have claimed her there on his desk, and knowing it was the solid truth shamed him a bit. While taking her might be a quick remedy to the situation, he wondered if it was the wisest.
He’d always known she hadn’t come to her own decision to make him her choice.
He wanted that too.
Perhaps just as much as he craved her body.
And he was going to have it.
But first, there was Brenda.
Symon slowly grinned. Victory went to those who were wise enough to make a grab for it when the situation was right.
He was going to have to make certain his sweet cousin was distracted so he could finish courting Athena. His cousin was correct—he was more experienced.
And Athena wasn’t the only one who had a passionate spirit. Brenda did as well, and she held it back just as much.
It was time to make certain Brenda was faced with a challenge to her determination to remain alone for the rest of her life.
* * *
“Good morning, Mistress.”
“Mistress.”
“Fine morning to ye, ma’am.”
Brenda’s efforts had not been as effective as Athena had hoped.
The morning light brought the Grants offering her nods and greetings. The retainers, who looked worthy of any fireside story that she’d heard in her childhood concerning savage Highlanders, reached up to tug on the corners of their bonnets when they crossed her path and did their best to smile at her.
The maids lowered themselves.
The older women, the ones who carried the respect of their fellow clan members, offered her greetings and called her “mistress.”
“A fine morning to ye,” Feenet called out when she spied Athena using a ladle to fill a bowl with porridge instead of going into the hall to eat. “Look what I’ve pulled from the storerooms…”
A maid brought a stool for Athena to sit on while she ate. The Head of House held up a chunk of sugar. She sniffed it long and deeply.
“So sweet,” Feenet exclaimed. “It will make a fine tart for yer wedding celebration.”
“We are not—”
Feenet’s eyes narrowed in the manner that only a parent’s could do. She put the sugar down and propped a hand on her hip. “I’ve never seen a pair more in need of a blessing from the Church. Better to take yer vows now before ye find yerself shuffling yer feet in shame as ye seek forgiveness for falling from grace. This castle is too large for Brenda to keep finding where ye and the laird have snuck off to.”
The maids giggled.
Athena slipped off the stool, leaving her half-eaten porridge behind. The Head of House merely shook her head at her before shooing her from the kitchen. “Mark my words, Mistress, unless ye leave for England this very hour, ye’ll no’ escape what fate has decided upon.”
Fate… Athena knew its hand all too well.
And yet there was something about Symon that made it all seem worth the blows.
She’d have never met him if it hadn’t been for Galwell’s treachery.
She looked at Feenet. “I will think upon the matter.”
The Head of House bestowed an approving smile on her before she turned and began issuing instructions to the kitchen staff in Gaelic. Bright smiles appeared on the faces of the maids as the younger ones blushed and giggled.
Feenet clearly didn’t have any doubt about what conclusion Athena would come to.
