A Perfect Knight For Love (31 page)

The chamber didn’t seem as barren and cold once they arrived, had the fire stoked, and Thayne dismissed everyone. His Guardsman, Grant, was certainly efficient. A cradle rested near the hearth where Amalie had been bathed what seemed days ago, rather than hours. Baby Mary was a comforting weight in her arms. Amalie recognized just how comfortable as she placed her into a nest made of knitted blanket and spun linen. She tugged a chair close, the sound of wood sliding loud in the stillness. Then the bolt rasped into position, making an even louder disruption. Amalie forced herself to watch the baby. She didn’t know where Thayne was, although every bit of her seemed aware of him.

“I dinna’ fetch you back to watch the bairn sleep.”

He used the stern voice from the confrontation in the nursery. And he was between her and the bed; shadowed by the candelabra at the bedstead behind, lit by flickers of light from the fireplace. He stood to his full height as he regarded her. Unsmiling. Unblinking. And then he flicked the catch on his brooch, releasing the shoulder-fastening of his attire. A bit of a shrug had the plaid material drooping into a loop at one hip, held in place by his belt.

“She . . . may wake again.”

“That she may. And in the meanwhile, I’ve need.”

He pulled on the ruffled front of his shirt next, revealing buttons, and those he worked loose. When he had the garment gapped open in the front, he moved his fingers to the ties at his shoulders, releasing his sleeves. Those he pulled over each hand. He did it by touch, since his gaze didn’t move from hers. Amalie’s heart ratcheted into her throat as she watched, making everything feel warm.

“Must you be so . . . blunt?”

A ghost of a smile touched one side of his mouth, lifting it, before it disappeared. “Blunt? Me?”

Amalie nodded.

He removed the shirt and dropped it atop the pile growing at his feet. “If you find me blunt, surely ’tis nae surprise. I am, after all, a Highlander.”

“You seek to exercise your . . . husbandly rights? Is that it?” Amalie choked midway through it, but got the words out whole and full-voiced. She didn’t drop her gaze, either, although a tremor went through her.

“Ah, love. That is a vast want. Na’ a need.”

“You want me naked on your bed? Is that it?”

He sucked in his cheeks, putting a pout to his lips as he considered her, or her words, while Amalie grew even hotter with the blush.

“I’m certainly na’ averse to such a display, if you so wish.”

“Isn’t . . . that what you wanted?”

“Later, perhaps.”

“Later?”

“I’ve a need for a bit of nursing first. My bandaging needs seen to. You do recollect I’m wounded?”

Amalie was on her feet. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“And miss hearing you speak of your wifely rights? Amid such blushing? Grant me some sense, wife.”

“Amalie. My name is Amalie.”

“Aye. I ken. Amalie. But, according to the list you gave Wynneth, there’s a vast array of other names to you as well. True?”

“Yes.”

“I could get fond of Evelyn.”

“You want me to see to your injury or not, Highlander?”

“You doona’ like Evelyn?”

“How badly did you hurt it this time?” She put a hand to his upper arm and steered him toward the bed, and docilely he allowed it.

“We may need linens again.”

“You broke it open? It was your fighting on the list, wasn’t it?”

“Nae. And aye.”

“Yes and no. What kind of answer is that? How could you do something so . . . ill-advised? And how could your men force it?”

“You ask many questions and in an order a man canna’ recollect. I dinna’ say I broke it open, love. And nae man forced me. I was challenged.”

“And of course, you have to meet every challenge. Here. Get up. On your belly.”

Amalie patted the bed and waited until he did as she asked, watching for any sign of pain that might filter through his features. It was the only gauge of pain she trusted. He wasn’t forthcoming with much else. And then she had Thayne MacGowan stretched out fully before her. Unclothed to the waist. Changing the temperature in the chamber to overwhelming heat. She slipped the buttons of her robe from their holes and then shed it. She had to swallow to keep her voice from demonstrating how it affected her.

“If I canna’ meet a challenge, there might be wondering as to the why of it. And that could lead to—”

“I know. I heard this already. I just don’t understand how your men could be so cruel as to challenge you. Aren’t they supposed to protect you?”

“’Twas more men than mine on the list today, and the healer is most at fault.”

“The healer challenged you, too?”

“Of course na’. His handiwork was behind the severity of my challenges.”

“Didn’t he care for your wound? What kind of healer do you have in this castle? And . . . just what is this?” Amalie had lifted his kilt up, and found him wrapped in ill-used linen.

“You laugh, and I’ll spank you. I vow it.”

Amalie dropped the material and leaned until she was beside his face. “Why would I laugh?”

“I’m wearing a loin-wrap.”

“Looks more like a swaddling—”

“I’m warning you, Amalie Evelyn.”

“I don’t understand you men. Who cares if you wear swaddling? It did its job at protecting your wound. I take back everything about your healer. The man shows uncommon sense. Did he burn it again?”

“The man used his needle. And atop that, he’s placed moss. Or something of that nature. And then he made me promise to keep it all in place by wrapping me.”

“He sewed it?” Amalie made a face and moved to looking over his backside again.

“Aye. I’ve heard no end to insults and slurs over it. I canna’ even fault them. Had it been another, I’d have joined in.”

“What is wrong with you men?” Amalie checked about the edges of his wrap for a fastening, getting her fingertips dirtier with each touch. He was also tensing every time, putting a white tint to every scar on him. He had quite a few, and they were in all sorts of places and sizes. She reached to trace one scoring his spine, before stopping her own fingers.

“You’d be best served with a blade. Here.”

He stretched, moving enough the scarred flesh contacted her fingertips. The resultant spark flew her wrist, rounded her shoulder, and speared her heart. Her eyes were wide as he unerringly pulled a knife from behind him to hold its handle first to her.

“Thayne . . .” Her voice trembled.

“Go on. Cut. I doona’ offer such to many lasses. You ken?”

Amalie started slicing, and then talking. It kept her mind off what she had to do. “You need to give it time to heal. Stay abed. Tomorrow.”

“I canna’.”

“You’re not going on the list again, are you? Because I—I’ll just tell them you’re abed and . . . can’t be disturbed.”

“You ken the talk that’ll start?”

“They’ll think I’m ravishing you within an inch of your life, of course. And if they’re too dense to think it, I’ll just tell them so.” She got the entire thing out before the embarrassment stopped her, sending her heartbeat into rapid, sharp beats. She’d blame the playacting with Edmund later, although it seemed he’d been right. Bravado was always best. Do first, worry later.

He twisted his upper body to face her, and then he winked, drawing a gasp. Amalie tried very hard not to give it, but it was useless. Her entire frame knew it.

“You make a verra tempting case, but I’ve other plans. Sadly.”

“You have other things . . . more tempting than . . . me?”

She almost got the entire thing out before her tongue tripped. She also suffered the full body flush at such immodest words. She didn’t have to see it. She felt it. She also had this wrap undone, lifting a mash of leaf-filled unguent with it. His healer looked to be extremely gifted. There wasn’t a sign of blood anywhere.

He groaned, turned his face into the cover, and mumbled words into it. “Amalie Evelyn. I’m doing the honorable thing here.”

“Honorable?”

“Aye. Just and fair. Exactly as was done for me.”

“Then, I didn’t hurt you?” She wadded the used linen in a ball and dropped it to the floor.

“I have forced you to accept wedlock with me, and then I forced a consummation. I’ve done naught to your wishes.”

“Thayne MacGowan. You said you loved me.”

There was a long silence where she could have sworn he held his breath. And then he sighed heavily, moving the mass of scarred back flesh she watched.

“Aye. That I did.”

“Did?” Why couldn’t she just let it go? Did she have to gain torment, too? Amalie blinked rapidly on emotion her heart just kept sending to her eyes.

“I did say such.”

“Was it a lie?”

He shook his head, moving his nose on the bedding. “Nae. ’Tis true enough. But . . . I dinna’ expect love to have so many sides, or so many pitfalls. Nor this much guilt.”

“Guilt?” Amalie started working at the buttons at the throat of her night rail. It was feminine and covered in lace, and bedecked with little pearl buttons. It was also modestly fastened to her neck. Stupid design.

“I’d heard Highlanders were the dense sort . . . but I had no idea to what extent.”

He rolled toward her, anger probably lighting his gorgeous blue-green eyes. But it changed, their color darkening rapidly as he watched her pull apart the neckline of her gown.

“Amalie.” He was using his authoritative voice, the one from the nursery earlier.

“Does this look like you’re forcing me . . . husband? Or do I truly have to ask?”

Her answer was a wide grin, then perfect, amazing words, and then hard, sculpted arms lifting her. Arms that trembled.

“Ah . . . Amalie, love. Naught ever looked so . . . I’d have to be a saint. I love you. Did you na’ hear me?”

Yes
.

Her heart answered, and then her soul.

Chapter 22

Midnight fog clung to every hollow, hiding his approach, exactly as he’d planned since sneaking from the castle yester morn. After placing a kiss atop his wife’s sweetly pursed lips, and one to the baby’s forehead. With luck, he’d make it back yet for Mary’s wake and interment. If he rode all night; and if the MacKennah laird gave him time to talk before reacting.

Thayne held a hand up, halting the line of horses containing the MacKennah women, three of his Honor Guardsmen, and a litter containing the man Jamie had tortured. The MacKennahs Jamie had taken were all wrapped in their own plaid, gagged, and tied in place atop their mounts. There wasn’t any other way to approach stealthily. Every one of his unbidden captives had refused any courtesy, and spit in his face when he’d asked for cooperation. Thayne couldn’t blame them. He’d have done the same.

Fog coated everything, wetting their cloaks and hampering breathing. It was perfect for his approach to the MacKennah stronghold. Unfortunately, it was also perfect for hiding defenders. They were already too close. Any closer and he’d be risking capture for his men, too.

“We leaving them here? Finally?”

Sean whispered it at his shoulder. Thayne shook his head.

“You
want
to get captured?”

Thayne shook his head again.

“Then what?”

“You stay. I escort them. Alone.”

“Nae.”

The man was joined by Grant, shaking his head as well as mouthing the refusal. This left Phib at the rear, guarding.

“’Tis nae request, lads. I’m ordering it.”

“You crazed?”

“Just hoping to dampen this feud afore it starts up again.”

“They’ll kill you on sight.”

“Na’ likely. The man has too much sense. Killing the MacGowan heir means full war. He’s na’ that stupid.”

“You canna’ expect us to sit idly by, awaiting the man’s act. We’re your Honor Guard, Thayne.”

“Aye. The best men from it. But you’ll stay here as ordered. Readied. I’ve a pass into his dungeon, at the verra least. You’d na’ be so lucky.”

“A stay in his dungeon is worse than bad luck, Thayne! We’ve heard tales.”

“Aye, but at least the man will let me live. If I allow your escort, you’re all three dead men. Now, go! Before our words bring a MacKennah out to check.”

Both men backed slightly at Thayne’s tone, or how he reached for the back of his sett, making a cowl about his head, fitting it about the sword hilt peeking above his shoulder.

“You get taken and they’ll demand a hefty ransom. They’ll probably take a few slices from your skin, as well.”

“Hand me the rein. Back a hundred yards up the drum, and wait.”

“For what? Your cry of pain?”

Thayne smirked. “You hear a lone wolf howl, you’ll ken I’ve been taken. A hoot owl means all’s well. You’ll obey?”

“We still say you’re crazed, but aye. We’ll do as ordered.”

“Verra good. Sean? You stay closest. The others move back, within sighting distance of each other. Send Phib to the end. He’s got the fastest horse.”

“You wish him to use it how?”

“To get word of my fate to the castle.”

“You’re insane, Thayne MacGowan. Fully.”

“Na’ truly. I’ve a bit of hope the laird will be of a willing mind to settle this. And I’ve warm pockets to make it a bit easier to swallow.”

“A MacKennah settle anything without bloodshed? Unlikely.”

“This is ill-conceived, and foolhardy.”

“It’s still happening. Give me the rein and prepare lads. Bear word back to Gowan Castle, and Jamie’s duchess.”

“The Douglas?”

“Aye.”

“What’s she to do with this?”

“She’s the lone one with funds to meet large demands, should my forty pounds fail to impress sufficiently. You have instructions. Now move. All of you.”

The men nodded. Thayne was given the reins to the lead captive’s horse, and then he watched his men meld into the fog cover before kicking at Placer’s sides. The stallion scrambled on the incline before regaining his footing. The resultant shale slide made enough noise, he should be well announced and noticed. Good. Stealth wasn’t needed now. He fully expected to get challenged and addressed. The sooner the better, as far as he was concerned. If he got too close, the watchmen would need disciplining, and that might anger the MacKennahs worse.