Adrienne Basso (17 page)

This was a business arrangement between them. An exchange of bartered services. Gavin agreed to foster her son and train him to be a knight and in exchange she slept in his bed.

’Twas nothing more and nothing less.

Though painful, Gavin’s remarks were a stark reminder that she was a fool to ever forget it.

Gavin saw Fiona’s expression tighten with hurt and he wanted to bite his tongue until it bled. First, he’d humiliated himself on the practice field by allowing himself to become careless, and now he had opened his mouth and stuck his booted foot inside it.

He reached for her and she tried to push him away, but he persisted, catching her wrist and pulling her toward him.

“Curse my thoughtless tongue,” Gavin said as he stroked Fiona’s cheek. “’Tis far more than merely an arrangement between us, lass. We both know it.”

“You owe me nothing, my lord.”

She spoke the words with such pain in her voice it nearly tore his own heart in two. Logically, Gavin knew he had nothing to feel guilty about. He had not forced her into this position—hell, becoming his mistress had been her suggestion.

Yet there was no denying that their relationship had long progressed beyond a mutually beneficial arrangement. They shared something deeper, something whole and true. ’Twas something that Gavin freely admitted he couldn’t define, yet couldn’t ignore. To do so would be an insult to both of them.

“I fear we’ve gotten ourselves in far deeper than either of us anticipated,” he said softly.

Her eyes fluttered open and met his. She exhaled a weighty sigh, a deep furrow wrinkling her brow. “What do you propose we do?” she asked.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, a courtly, respectful gesture. “Enjoy every minute of it,” he replied.

 

 

The following days took on a routine that Gavin found both exhilarating and oddly comforting. Each night, he would tumble Fiona into his bed and make love to her. Nay, with her. Sometimes it was quick and intense, when his ravenous hunger needed instantly to be fed. Other times it was slow and tender and surprisingly even more explosive.

They explored each other’s body with reverence, delighting in discovering what brought the other pleasure. He was insatiable, unable to keep himself from touching Fiona, even as they slept. The heat and urgency he felt whenever he was near her was impossible to control, the feelings that surrounded him as she lay naked next to him indescribable.

Once sated, he would gather Fiona in his arms, basking in a feeling of completion. There in the darkness the conversations would begin—tales of their youth, who had been important and influential as they grew to adulthood, what dreams and hopes had they secretly kept. Who and what had brought them happiness—and sadness.

Gavin told her outrageous stories of his boyhood adventures, exaggerating his antics until her smiles turned to giggles. She spoke of her life as a young girl and the close bond she’d had with her mother along with the inconsolable sorrow she suffered when that good woman died from childbed fever when Fiona was eight years old.

Revealing who they were as children, and later young adults, established a deeper understanding between them. But it wasn’t only the past they discussed. They talked—and argued—about nearly everything—politics, the tyranny of kings, the merits of French wine, and the best way to roast a flavorful haunch of venison.

The one subject they never broached was the future. Gavin wanted to believe it was because they had agreed to live in the moment, but that was only partially true. Looking too far ahead would jeopardize what they shared and he was not prepared to sacrifice this unexpected gift of happiness.

However, as this sharing brought them closer and closer, Gavin grew concerned. He had never opened himself to a woman as he had to her.

His dependency on Fiona had the potential to become a dilemma. He craved, nay hungered, for her day and night. No matter how often he had her, he still wanted more. It was dangerous, precarious, for he worried if his need would ever be truly filled.

Yet when these dark thoughts reared their ugly head, Gavin thrust them from his mind. He was happy now, in a way that had never before been a part of his life. He was no longer alone and isolated, and neither was Fiona. He would relish these rare glimpses of contentment while he was able to hold them in his grasp.

Still, he was not so naive to believe that the future would somehow take care of itself.

Aidan let out a battle cry and swung his heavy sword wide. Reacting at the last moment, Gavin barely had time to avoid a slice to his gut.

“Yer distracted,” Duncan called out from the sidelines, scrutinizing him with narrow, speculative eyes. “First a squire lands a blow that has ye bleeding like a wild boar, and now Aidan nearly opens yer belly with one stroke of his blade. Maybe ’tis best if ye cut yer training short today.”

Ignoring the remark, Gavin lifted his shield. Aidan struck again and their sparring quickly intensified. But when Gavin thrust his sword forward and hit nothing but air, he knew it was time to quit.

Duncan was right; he was distracted. Breathing hard, Gavin stepped back and held up his palm to stave off Aidan’s next attack. Aidan instantly lowered his sword.

“Are ye hungry?” Duncan asked. “Ye dinnae break yer fast with us in the hall this morning. A man can’t put up a strong fight with a growling stomach.”

“I’d wager ’tis lack of a proper night’s sleep that has his lordship so sluggish today,” Aidan snickered.

“I believe ye are right, brother. Yet I must agree that winning the favor of the fair Lady Fiona is worth a few cuts and bruises,” Duncan chided.

“Bugger off,” Gavin grumbled, shooting them both a nasty glare.

The truth was Gavin was neither hungry nor tired, but rather clouded with indecision and inertia. With each passing day, the promise he’d made to the king weighed heavier on his mind. Just last night, after Fiona had drifted off to sleep, he’d reluctantly pulled himself away from the cozy warmth of the bed to once again study the matter. Lighting a candle, he sat at the table in his chamber and peered at the list of potential brides that the king had given him, his mind and gut churning.

That damn list, with names that were no longer letters on parchment. They were flesh and blood women and he needed to make a final decision as to which one of them he would take as his next wife. Aileen Sinclair was the logical choice. They had all agreed. Yet still he hesitated, refusing to make the final commitment.

Time was moving too swiftly. He wanted to halt it, freeze it, keep things exactly as they were right now. Peace and prosperity for his clan, good cheer and laughter in his hall, and Fiona at his side and in his bed. Was that such an unreasonable wish?

Gavin sighed. A reckoning was coming; he knew he could no longer put off making a decision. Robert requested a marital alliance and one did not deny a king. Especially since Gavin knew how important this alliance was for Robert’s cause.

Yet every time he thought of taking another wife, the face that instantly sprung to mind was one of golden, refined beauty. With green sparkling eyes, a broad smile, and a fierce, loyal soul.

Fiona
.

It was impossible, of course, a circumstance Gavin knew could never warrant any serious thought. Marry an English widow—never! Yet as he sat, brooding at that table in the predawn hours, he was almost astounded to realize that Fiona was, without question, the choice of his heart.

Why? Well, that brought forth another nearly incomprehensible truth. He admitted his feelings for Fiona were complex. He also admitted that he had great difficulty acknowledging the depth and strength of these emotions. How had this happened? How had she so seamlessly wound her way inside his head, inside his heart?

How had she changed his world so completely that he now experienced this sentiment so profoundly, so intensely? A sentiment that until this moment he was sure was mythical, something that very rarely existed between a man and a woman.

Gavin’s mind fairly spun at the concept. Unselfish, all consuming, astonishingly intense.

He had fallen in love with his mistress.

The morning mist burned off slowly, and a golden hue spread throughout the countryside. The bright, sunny weather served to heighten the excitement that was already buzzing throughout the castle, for today was the start of the yearly fair. Fiona had been informed of this event by no less than three different people as she made her way to the great hall to break her fast, and their enthusiasm was impossible to resist.

She was disappointed to discover that Gavin had already eaten and was gone from the hall, but he left a message with Hamish requesting that she be ready to attend the festivities in the village with him as the noon hour approached.

Pleased that they would be able to enjoy the fair together, Fiona ate her meal in contemplative silence. This past week had been the happiest of all since her arrival in Scotland. Gavin had been very busy, as always; in fact, she had seen less of him than usual.

But the time they had spent together had been special, infused with intimacy and affection. Having these moments together had made it possible for Fiona to put aside her fears for their future and let the warmth of these emotions embrace her.

As promised, Fiona and Gavin set out for the fair at the appointed hour. As they walked past the village toward the open field where the merchants had set up their carts and tents, Gavin curved his arm across Fiona’s shoulders, holding her close. The scent of him filled her, and her heart thudded in response.

Fiona couldn’t resist the urge to smile. The enjoyment showing in Gavin’s face reminded her of Spencer. Who would have believed such a fierce warrior could have such a boyish streak?

As they came closer, the strains of music could be heard; the trill of pipes and the rhythmic beat of the drums. There were couples dancing while others clapped and stomped their feet. Kegs of ale were set on a wooden table and both the dancers and musicians were imbibing freely.

Fiona observed one of the pretty maids, a tray filled with tankards, give Duncan a saucy wink. His brothers started hooting, their teasing yells carrying in the breeze. Fiona saw Duncan swagger up to the maid and whisper something in her ear that soon had her blushing.

“What do ye want to do first?” Gavin asked.

Fiona took a deep breath and immersed herself in the sights and sounds around her. There were acrobats, jugglers, and ropewalkers, along with merchants in rows on either side of a makeshift path, their carts and brightly decorated stalls showcasing their wares. Bolts of cloth, yards of ribbon, small jars of exotic spices. There were bags made of the softest leather and casks filled with imported wine. Soaps and candles and pottery of various shapes and sizes.

The smell of roasting meat mingled with the sounds of excited conversation. The lighthearted, festive mood was contagious. This was a day to leave behind the drudgery and monotony of daily life, to indulge and enjoy. It seemed something that Gavin’s people understood very well and were undertaking with ease.

“I’ve never been to a market fair this large,” Fiona confided. “I scarcely know where to look.”

“First we shop,” Gavin decided. “Then we feast.”

He took her hand. She turned and he gave her a grin that melted her bones. Still reeling from his gaze, Fiona allowed herself to be led to the first cart. The pleasant, floral scent engulfed her as she gazed at the flakes and bars of soap and the long, tapered candles.

“Which items catch yer fancy?” Gavin asked.

Fiona’s eyes widened. The ordinary, dark yellow candles were made from tallow, but the pale candles were fashioned from beeswax, which Fiona knew gave off a much brighter light.

“’Tis frivolous to buy something we already make ourselves,” she whispered to Gavin.

“This is not at all like the ash or tallow soap we use,” he countered. “Or the fish oil soap that’s only fit fer the laundry.”

“Or bathing my dog,” Fiona said with a grin.

“I’ve heard the most luxurious soaps are made in Spain,” Gavin said.

“Just so, milord,” the merchant replied eagerly. “They use olive oil and add aromatic herbs. Try this one.”

The merchant handed Gavin a cake of soap. He sniffed, then placed it under Fiona’s nose. She inhaled the rich scent of pine.

“Rosemary,” the merchant said before Fiona could inquire.

“’Tis far better than smelling like a bunch of flowers,” Gavin said. “I’ll take a dozen. And three pounds of beeswax candles.”

Purchases made, they moved on, passing a stall with rounds of cheese. The pungent smell was not unpleasant, making Fiona’s mouth water.

Next was the cloth merchant’s stall. Long pieces of fabric were arranged in neat piles by color and type, stacked one on top of the other, while some were hung over the wooden joists at the top of the stall.

Fiona was impressed. Twisting her head from side to side, she wasn’t certain where to look first. There were piles of wool, damask, and linen cloth, of varying texture and quality. Clearly, this merchant knew it was best to offer something for all classes of buyers.

She picked up the end of a piece of yellow wool, amazed at the softness. The tight weave would provide a solid protection against a winter wind, yet it was delicate enough to wear against the skin without chaffing.

“I see the lady has an eye for quality,” the cloth merchant said with a broad smile. “That is the finest wool weave you can find, but I have something even better suited to the lady’s beauty.”

The merchant reached into the wagon behind him and lifted out an armful of silk. Fiona’s eyes widened at the vibrant red, blue, green, and gold colors, but it was the feel of the fabric that had her sighing in wonder.

“’Tis light as a feather,” Gavin commented as he fingered the silk. “Do ye like it?”

“’Tis beautiful, the finest quality I have ever seen.” Fiona cast a final, longing glance at the beautiful material. “But I’m sure the cost is too dear.”

“I can afford to buy ye whatever ye desire,” Gavin said.

“Shh, don’t let him hear you say that!” Fiona glanced anxiously at the merchant, then lowered her voice for Gavin’s ears only. “I thought the Scots appreciated the art of negotiating a good bargain.”

“They do,” Gavin replied. “But it isn’t necessary to beggar a man either.”

“He’ll make a profit as well you know,” she hissed. Turning to the merchant, Fiona assumed an air of indifference. “The silk is pretty, though I’m not certain I like the colors. I find them to be rather ordinary.”

The merchant’s brow rose. “The lady is English?”

Gavin’s hand reached down for his sword handle. “Aye.”

The merchant stepped back, holding his hands aloft and waving them dramatically in apology. “Please, milord, no offense was meant. I was merely surprised when I heard the lady speak.”

Fiona was silent, her thumb rubbing against the smooth fabric. She had not taken offense at the merchant’s inquiry, for she had grown accustomed to such reactions. But it was Gavin’s passionate defense of her that made her ache to throw her arms around him and hug him tightly.

“Since the earl insists on buying some of your cloth, I shall ask you for your very best price for a bolt of the blue silk,” Fiona said, acting as though she was doing the merchant a great favor by allowing him to sell her his wares. “But before you answer, I should warn you, good sir, an English lady is far more difficult to please than the fair maidens of Scotland.”

It took but a few moments for Gavin to realize that Fiona truly was a master at bartering. By the time she was finished, she had acquired bolts of satin, silk, linen, and wool, with thread and ribbons to match and a fine assortment of sewing needles at half the price he would have most likely paid.

From there they moved at a snail’s pace, examining and sampling the wares at each cart and booth. As she exclaimed over the variety and quality of the items, Gavin waited with good humor for Fiona to turn to him with pleading eyes when she came across something she desired, but she never once asked. The leather pouch of coins hanging from his belt remained full and heavy.

“Do ye see nothing that ye like?” he finally asked.

She looked surprised. “I don’t expect you to buy me anything. ’Tis the looking that I enjoy the most.”

Gavin had a difficult time believing her, but for the next hour Fiona stayed true to her word, never once indicating there was something that truly caught her fancy.

A cheer went up and Gavin turned. He saw a crowd clustered at the end of the row of carts and stalls. He captured Fiona’s hand and tugged her down to the gathering, annoyed when he saw a wrestling match about to begin. Shaking his head, Gavin pushed forward, but Fiona pulled him back.

“You aren’t going to wrestle that giant tree trunk of a man, are you?” she asked.

Gavin wasn’t certain if he should feel insulted by the incredulous tone she used or pleased at the underlying worry in her expression. He raised a brow. “Are ye implying that I would lose?”

“Not exactly. Though I will say that I prefer you with all of your limbs in one piece.”

“If ye must know, I intend to stop the match from starting. I don’t want any of my men injured. Last year that fellow broke several of Duncan’s ribs.”

Fiona clucked with disgust. Interpreting that as approval, Gavin pushed himself through the crowd and spoke with his men. When he was finished, he returned to Fiona, took her hand once again and followed his nose to the area where food was being prepared.

He purchased a few meat pies, cheese, and fruit while Fiona waited at a wooden table set beneath a tree. Feeling a need for privacy, Gavin did not join her there, but instead continued walking, motioning for her to follow him.

“Is anything wrong?” Fiona asked in alarm.

“Nay. I’m just trying to steal a few moments alone with ye.”

A short while later they were walking down a sloping hill, nearing the lush valley below. The noise of the fair faded, then disappeared completely. They reached a field of yellow and lavender wildflowers and Fiona bent to pick some. When her hands were full, Gavin led her to a shady tree, bidding her to sit beneath it. He nestled beside her, taking in the peaceful view of the distant mountains and the sound of birds trilling in the treetops.

It was strange how this vast space felt so intimate. Perhaps because they were seated side by side? He liked the feel of Fiona’s legs brushing against his thighs, reveled in the clean smell of her hair and skin. It was a scent he never grew tired of, because it reminded him of her.

Fiona unpinned and removed her veil, allowing her hair to become loose in the gentle breeze. The curls floated freely around her face, a few of the longer locks cascading down her back. It warmed Gavin’s heart to see her looking so peaceful.

“Did ye enjoy the fair?” he asked.

“Well, ’twas very grand, unlike any other I have ever seen. The last time I attended a fair was five, nay six years ago. A band of tinkers was traveling through the village and Henry allowed them to stay overnight. He was not interested in seeing their wares, but I enjoyed the diversion. Spencer and Alice went with me. I remember we returned with our arms laden with goods.”

“I feel like a miser,” Gavin lamented. “I’ve bought ye nothing but a few bolts of cloth and some sewing needles and thread.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “’Tis what I asked for and I am heartily pleased to have received them.”

“I do have a wee token.” Gavin reached inside his tunic and pulled out a small bottle made of deep green glass. Placing it in the center of his palm, he held it out to Fiona. “The sparkling color reminded me of yer eyes.”

“I’ve never seen anything so fine,” Fiona exclaimed in a hushed voice.

Gavin lifted the vessel higher. Sunlight reflected off the delicate glass, illuminating the tree trunk with a glittering green color. “The bottle is but one part of the gift.” He removed the glass stopper and passed it beneath her nose.

Fiona’s chest expanded as she took a deep breath. “It smells like heaven,” she proclaimed.

“Aye, lass. It smells like ye. Irresistible heaven.”

To emphasize his words, he cupped a hand behind Fiona’s head and drew her forward. He kissed her temple, then her cheek, and lastly the sweet spot just below her ear.

A giggle bubbled up from her throat. She sounded as carefree as a young maiden. Gavin decided he liked the sound. He wanted to see more smiles, more serenity on her lovely face. He wanted to be the one to relieve the burdens she carried on her shoulders with such grace and dignity, to set to rights the wrongs she had endured.

Being around Fiona made him feel like more of a man, more of a protector, a leader. ’Twas strange, considering the emotions she evoked inside his heart. Many men he knew loudly proclaimed that loving a woman made you weak, foolish. But loving Fiona had the opposite effect on him.

Fiona carefully tucked the bottle of perfume in the pocket of her gown while Gavin arranged their simple meal. He unwrapped the linen cloth of meat pies, cheese, and fruit he had bought, then using the cloth as a blanket, laid out the food upon it.

They dug into the meat pies first, then grabbing his small-bladed eating knife, Gavin cut the pear and passed Fiona a slice. She took it with a smile, the sweet juices running down her fingers. She was dainty, but not delicate when she ate, and Gavin enjoyed the earthy sensuality of watching her savor every bite. The sight of her lips closing around the succulent fruit with such enthusiasm was an almost erotic experience.

Desire raced through his blood like a rampant fever. Her every movement, no matter how mundane, seemed to reach out and beckon to him. He pulled in a heavy breath and looked away. He was a man of experience, not a raw lad lusting after his first wench. Where did she get the power to reduce him to such a randy fool? To fluster him as though he were a blushing maiden?

Gavin stretched out on his side, one hand holding up his head, the other resting on the curve of her hip. He lowered his lids and cast her a bold, suggestive glance, hoping for a similar reaction. Awareness crackled in the air between them.