A Perfect Knight For Love (39 page)

“Where is she?”

Thayne took a step into the room, then another, and if the woman didn’t speak up soon, he was going to reach her, and he didn’t know what might happen then.

“I doona’ ken. She was feeling poorly, and I just came to check.”

He’d reached her and locked every muscle to stop, look down at her, and keep from reacting.

“Your grace?”

Thayne turned his head. There were more than a dozen clansmen filing into his chamber, as if they had purpose and permission to do so. Had his wife been in that bed, Thayne would be challenging, and then he’d be punishing for daring to enter her bed chamber. That would be a pure shame, too, since it was Angus MacGorrick at the forefront, leaning heavily on his cane.

“What?” The word came tersely from between his teeth.

“You . . . escaped?”

“Aye.”

“’Tis good. Verra good. The clan will welcome this, my laird.”

The man went to a knee, followed by the entire rank of them.

“Later, MacGorrick. Do you ken where my wife is?”

“Nae, but—”

The man was taking his time in replying, just as it took time to regain his feet. And Thayne was getting frustrated.

“I want to find my wife! I need to see her! Does nae one ken where she is?”

“I can help, your grace.”

Stout Pells stepped into the chamber, strode through the group, approached Thayne, and went to a knee before him. Thayne looked to the ceiling, pulled in a huge breath to stay the expletive from getting launched from his mouth, and then looked back down.

“Rise, and speak of it. Now.”

“’Twas my duty to guard her. . . .”

“She’s na’ here, Pells! Is this what you call guarding?” He’d failed. Fury and frustration colored the words, taking out his anger where it wasn’t deserved. Stout Pells considered him for a moment and then grinned.

“My apologies, my laird. She’s in the small chapel. I dinna’ escort or disturb her. She’ll come to nae harm.”

Thayne didn’t hear the entire bit of it. He was already out the door.

Her prayer had been answered before, gaining her serenity, and calm, and making everything right in the world . . . and if God would just be merciful one more time. Just one! She vowed to always tell the truth. Always. Unless the truth was hurtful. In that event, she’d keep her silence. All she needed was just one more miracle. Thayne. She needed Thayne. She needed him in the flesh. Alive, breathing, and whole. In front of her. That’s all she needed.

Amalie reached to lift the edge of her plaid again, holding it against her eyes, so it could soak up the tears. Stupid emotion! It wasn’t doing anything other than making her nose run, and giving her an ache in her head. The tartan blanket wasn’t long enough to reach her head anymore, since she’d layered it onto the floor beneath her knees. The stone floor in this chapel was even colder feeling than the hall. But she’d been right. The entire room exuded serenity. Calm. Sanctity. If there was any place God could hear a prayer, it was here.

“Amalie?”

Amalie lifted her head at the dusky whisper. And then she swiveled her head and saw him. She rubbed her eyes, and looked again. He didn’t disappear. Thayne stood in the doorway of the chapel. Thayne. Her Thayne. In the flesh. Then her jaw dropped.

“Thayne?”

It took longer to stand than it should, since she’d wound the blanket about her legs, but once she reached her feet, he was still there. It couldn’t be an apparition since he was halfway down the aisle toward her, and he was still Thayne. Still real. Breathing. Wounded. Her eyes narrowed at the blood dripping off his right arm.

“Thayne?”

And just before she expected to be swept into his arms he stopped, narrowed his eyes at her, and then lowered his jaw. It started another trill of shivers throughout her limbs at that look. Dangerous. Lethal.

“They tell me you’re leaving.”

“What?”

“Me. They tell me you’re leaving me.”

“No, I—”

“Amalie.”

He interrupted her, going to both knees at her feet, and then he grabbed for her hand. “I love you. Please don’t leave me. Please.”

“Oh, Thayne, I wouldn’t—”

“I’m begging you! Please? Does na’ my love mean anything?”

Amalie’s eyes filled, blurring the view. She nodded and swallowed. She didn’t think her voice would work, anyway.

“I have na’ been the best of husbands. I ken we hadn’t the choice, but given all that—am I that bad? Canna’ you see your way to allowing me a little time to make it up? I’ll do all you ask. I’ll allow the wee one to be christened Mary. I’ll take fewer chances. Damn! But I’m mucking this up with every word I speak!”

“Thayne.”

She’d been right. Her voice choked off. She had to sniff in order to continue.

“This past week has been hell. I canna’ even apologize for it. ’Twas my fault. But I dinna’ think the MacKennahs would truly take me. You’re na’ speaking. Please doona’ tell me that means what I think it does.”

“For the love of—”

“I’ll try harder. I’ve nae experience with a love of this depth. I thought it pained when Mary left me. I was wrong. ’Twas as nothing next to how this feels! I doona’ ken what else to say? Please say you’ll give me another chance? Please?”

“Thayne—”

“Nae! Wait! I was wrong. I canna’ stand to hear it!”

He lifted his uninjured arm and swiped it across his face. And then he started shuddering. Amalie went to her knees right in front of him, and forced his face up to hers. She’d always known he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, but with the depth of emotion in his eyes at the moment, there was nothing more beautiful. Heart-stopping. Totally.

“What fool said I’d leave you?”

“Any of them. All. Jesu’. I canna’ bear it.”

He tried to put his head down again, but she held on. And then she had to bend down in order to peer up at him.

“I can’t believe you’re here. Whole. Alive. I’d been praying, and I—words fail me.” So did her voice.

“You’re leaving me. That’s what you’re saying?”

He pulled back, and she watched him tighten everything on his frame, until she could see a pulse beat on his chest through the muslin of his shirt. It was unbelievably eye-catching. The man should wear more. A lot more.

“Leaving you? Thayne. Look at me. I love you. I wouldn’t leave you for anything. Ever. Did you hear me? I love you.”

“You . . . love me?”

“Tell me who spoke this horrid thing and I’ll go and behead them for it. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been leading a large Highland clan. I can think of lots of things equally bloodthirsty as punishment.”

He blinked, sending a tear trail down one cheek, and then he stared. “You’re truly na’ leaving me?”

She shook her head and smiled.

“But they told me the duchess is leaving.”

“She is. Good riddance to her, I say.”

“They meant . . . Wynneth?”

Amalie nodded and he finally got his good arm about her, pulling her right against his chest. She wrapped her arms as far about him as she could and breathed in his scent with her nose against his throat. He was real. Alive. Cold. Wet.

“You’re wet,” she pointed out.

“Aye. ’Tis a damp night for riding.”

“And you’re injured again.”

“Doona’ fash it. ’Tis naught.”

“You’re bleeding. Again. What did they do to you?”

“’Twas but an arrow.”

“They shot an arrow at you?”

“And tapped my head a bit with a battle ax. I’ve got a thick skull. Barely felt it.”

“Those MacKennahs best guard their backs. I’m going to repay each and every injury. I vow that as well. We’d best get you to the healer.”

“I’d rather get ensconced in my bed. With you.”

“Thayne!”

“I love you, Amalie. Truly.”

“And I you. But, Thayne?”

“Aye?”

“Your . . . men.” She almost didn’t get the word out since his lips hovered atop hers.

“My men probably think I’m daft.”

“Not the ones watching you.”

“Watch . . . ing?”

He spun on his buttocks, grimacing slightly as he probably reinjured himself, and finally got a look at their audience. Most were Honor Guardsmen, although Maves was at the front, dabbing at her eyes.

“Have you been here long?”

Thayne asked it and got cleared throats and some half-answers.

“Ah . . .”

“Well . . . you see . . .”

“We dinna’ wish to intrude.”

That was Maves. Thayne went to his feet, grunting with the effort. Amalie assumed it was due to just using leg strength. He should just put her down, but she knew he wouldn’t. And she wouldn’t let him.

“You’re all to find your posts and return to them. And that’s an order.”

“We’re just so glad to see you back, your grace! And safe.”

“It’s a miracle!”

“Do any of you ken an order when you hear one, or do I need challenge you?” Thayne asked.

“Your grace!”

Bowed heads and a lot of grinning accompanied their exit from the chapel, until there was just Amalie and Thayne. He lowered to one of the pews, and another slight tic of his lip betrayed how it must pain.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ve got you in my arms, love. There’s naught else I can feel.”

“Oh, Thayne . . . wait!” She put a finger to his lips, catching the pursed kiss. “I promised God I’d do something if I got you back.”

“You were praying for that?”

She nodded. Thayne moved away from her fingers to run his tongue along her earlobe, starting thrills that had no place in a house of worship. Amalie shushed the thought.

“Ah . . . love. I do believe my luck is changing. And for the better. Finally. Although I’ve got a bit of confession to make, too.”

“You go first.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

Amalie pulled back and regarded him, and then raised her brows. Thayne responded with a heavy sigh that ruffled his hair.

“Verra well. I’ve brought another Mary home. My rescuer. She fancies a bit of season in London. With your sponsorship.”

She blinked rapidly, and then smiled. “Is that all?”

“Wait ’til she speaks. She’s got more than a few rough edges to her. She’s more an unhewn log.”

“Sounds fascinating.” Amalie giggled.

“And . . . now yours?”

She looked at the wall behind him, and then back at him. And then just said it.

“I’ve done a bit of lying.”

“Truly now?”

“I . . . told them I knew you’d escaped and were coming home.”

“Does na’ look like a lie to me. I did escape and I’m home.”

“But I didn’t know that!”

“Perhaps you’re fey, love. Or perhaps the heart knew what the world didn’t. Maybe true love works that way. You dinna’ lie about loving me, did you?”

Amalie shook her head vigorously.

“I’m a-feared I’ll need to hear it in words, lass.”

“Is that another Scot law I should know about?”

“Nae. I just wish to hear it.”

“Fine. I love you, Thayne MacGowan. And now, let’s get to our chamber, so I can see to your latest injuries.”

“What if I’ve got other plans?”

“Thayne!”

His lips took hers, and Amalie could swear their hearts touched.

Chapter 27

A loud thump came at their door, and then Thayne’s whisper at her ear finished teasing her awake.

“The castle had better be under attack or I’m hurting someone.”

Amalie giggled as he unwrapped from about her, leaving morn chill in his wake. She pulled the coverlet higher, and burrowed beneath it.

“Just see that you don’t break open your wound again. We had a devil of a time stitching it back last time.”

“The leg’s fine. Healing well.”

“I don’t mean the leg. What of your shoulder?”

“That old arrow injury? Away with you, woman. That’s been scarred over a fortnight past. You should worry more about my opponent. Now, they’ll be needin’ the healer long afore me.”

The thump came again. Amalie cracked open an eye and watched her husband often weeks toss on a long shirt, hiding nakedness that still caused her to sigh in appreciation. He was right. The arrow mark was just a purplish pucker now, but he’d taken a blow just above the knee from a practice bout with one of his Honor Guard. It was recent enough he limped slightly. He really should take better care of his body. It was a shame to continue to scar such beauty. Then again . . . every bit of him showed strength and purpose, and might. Every scar was proof of it.

And he was all hers. This time, he heard the sigh.

“Keep that up and I’ll be coming back to that bed, and to hell with the door.”

Thayne had his
feileadh-breacan
tied loosely atop the nightshirt, the end of the plaid trailing along the floor as he approached the door.

“Answer the door, love, before they ram it open.”

“Over my dead frame! And you’d best have a good reason for waking my duchess and upsetting my son in the process!” He was at the door and sliding the bolt.

“Your daughter!” She yelled across at him. “And what there is of her can’t possibly be upset. She’s too small!” Amalie patted the slightest swell of her belly, and felt the same familiar tug at her heart. Her life was full now. So full, it frightened one.

“Details.” He waved a hand backward in her direction and cracked one door open.

“MacPherson! Stout Pells! And Grant? What is it? Is the castle under attack?”

She couldn’t hear the answer, but Thayne’s voice was loud enough.

“You doona’ ken? What kind of answer is that? We’ve got what? A troop of English soldiers? Here? In the outer bailey, awaiting me? What fool let them through the gate? Well? Someone better start jawing and I mean soon!”

There was a bit of masculine rumbling she couldn’t make out, and then Thayne stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind him. Amalie sat up and reached for her night rail. Thayne liked to sleep without clothing, and he truly loved cuddling with her in the same state. She couldn’t think of one reason to stay him, but it still made her blush.

The garment against her skin was cold, but warmed soon enough. The robe had the same issue. She added a thickly-woven sett over the whole, cocooning herself in warmth and luxury. Then she girded the floor. The stone was cold. She should have donned slippers. By what light was just touching the loch seen through her window, it didn’t even look like dawn had come, yet. She skipped from rug to rug over to the fireplace and stirred the coals before settling a log atop the grate. She then climbed into one of his overly large chairs to watch the flickers of the fire as they took root.