“He had two blades,” Keenan said (20 page)

They stared at one another. Keenan’s eyes stung and he blinked quickly not wanting to miss even a second of the masterpiece standing before him. This was likened to a stand off in battle.

Slowly, Serena’s fingers released their death grip on her arms. She lowered them to her sides, and the soft round globes of her breasts lifted slightly with each of her breaths.

Keenan’s jaw began to ache and he made himself part his lips. They were so dry. He wet his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. The ache in his thighs told him just how hard he pushed back against the door where he stood. And the ache in his groin robbed him of coherent thought. He just stared at her.

She wanted him, desired him, needed him in a way she had never felt before. How did he know this? He wasn’t sure, but he knew it for a certainty as if he lived for a moment within her heart. There was some connection between them. Her intense passion rooted her naked and unashamed before him. Without taking his eyes off her, he shook his head slightly. How was it possible that he knew what she was feeling? Or was he imagining it?

“You want me, Keenan Maclean, don’t deny it.” Her words were small in the silence, but their impact tore through him. She frowned slightly and closed her eyes and then opened them again. “I,” she started, “I can feel that you want me? I don’t know how, but I do.” She took a small step towards him, and he pressed his head back against the door. “Do you feel something from me?” she asked.

“I feel yer desire, lass.” Keenan swallowed hard.

“How?” she asked.

“I doona ken the way of it,” he swallowed again. “But I feel it.” He breathed deeply, his hand again adjusting the enormous ache building below.

She was close enough now that he could see her rapid breathing, the flush rising up her collar bone along the soft lines of her neck. He looked back down at her ample breasts, the nipples peaked and rosy. Och! How he wanted to touch them.

Serena touched one of her breasts. Keenan groaned. Passion flared beneath her lashes. The tension in Keenan’s body ripped through him. Never before, even in battle, had he felt this energy bunch his muscles. He felt as if he could rip a hole clear through the wall.

His fists clenched until his fingers ached. But he couldn’t look away as she hefted her other breast too. What was she doing to him? Serena was the witch of the prophecy. How could he touch her? How could he make her his if she was supposed to belong to his brother? Was he possible of such treachery, such betrayal?

Aye, he thought as his hand moved on its own over his hard erection. He was capable. But was it treachery? She had sworn she would never wed Lachlan. What if Serena was right and the prophecy was wrong? But none of the old seer’s words had ever been wrong before.

Somehow he continued to breathe as the thoughts, the justifications tangled through his mind. What if he was meant to love her before he died? And then after, she could wed Lachlan? What if he was supposed to father the next generation of Macleans through Serena before he died for his duty? Perhaps this was how the prophecy would work. Perhaps he could touch her, could love her.

Keenan took a step away from the wall. Serena’s breasts rose and fell on a muted gasp. She lowered her hands and focused on his gaze. She waited.

He took another step towards her, his hands unfisting. “I doona ken how it is that we feel each other’s desire, but we do.” He stopped and she nodded. “But I’m done denying it.” He shook his head. “I canna deny it.” With one more step, Keenan stood before her and inhaled the spicy sweet scent that enveloped her form. He reached one open palm to skim the softness of her hair. Gently he moved his hand down its length to where it fell against the curve of her hip. His hand cupped the soft bone beneath her silky skin. He pulled her against him, her breasts pressing up against his tunic. His lips were so close to hers that he breathed her own sweet breath. “Ye’re mine, lass.” The words rang through him and hope broke open inside his chest.

Pounding on the door. Serena gasped and pulled away. She flew to the bed as the door opened.

Keenan turned around, his dirk out in a flash ready to strike.

Thomas stood there, his eyes scanning the room. “Keenan, quickly. Ewan has taken ill in the stables. Ye need to tend him.”

“Bloody hell, he’s taken ill,” Keenan roared.

Thomas neither advanced nor retreated. “I swear Keenan.” Thomas lowered his voice. “And this gives ye a good reason to leave yer wife,” he said emphasizing the improvised role.

Keenan looked over to Serena who sat in the bed with the sheet up to her ears. The passion had fled her wide eyes. He shook his head in frustration. Why hadn’t he barred the door?

“I’ll return.” She nodded and he strode after Thomas to the door. He looked back at her. “As soon as I leave this room, bar the door. I will call to ye through it when I return. Doona open the door unless it is I.”

She nodded again and he left. He motioned to Thomas to wait until he heard the bolt slip in place. Keenan rested his hand on the door and breathed deeply. The connection he had felt with her was gone. But he had felt it and so had she. There was a connection, something powerful enough to make him rethink his call to duty. Something powerful enough to make him claim her. And he had, if not with his body, then with his words. Keenan spun on his heel and headed toward the stables. Thomas kept well behind him.

****

Serena woke groggily from a familiar dream of a cottage surrounded by a circle of tall stones. The smell of fresh baked bread dissipated from her mind as a tight rapping penetrated the dream-induced peace. As she climbed out of the oversized bed, she realized she was still naked. Memory flooded, and her chest clenched. Keenan hadn’t returned.

“Who is it?” she asked as she slipped into a chamber robe left in the room by a maid the day before.

“Your hostess, Lady Maclean,” Olivia Frampton laughed. “And a regiment of seamstresses I fear.”

Serena quickly pulled the bedding askew on the other side to make it look like she had slept with a bed partner.

She ran to the door and unbolted it. Olivia Frampton stood there, grandly dressed in a lovely organdy morning gown, her mousy brown hair piled high on her tiny head. Serena moved aside as the lady’s four maids followed her inside with baskets of sewing supplies.

“Sleeping late?” Olivia tittered. She began to order the maids around the room. “It seems we have no time to waste, Serena,” Olivia said. “Your husband is eager to be on his way.” She lowered her voice to a conspirator level. “I think he’s anxious to present you to his brother for his blessing and marry you before God.” Olivia smiled at her. “He wants you bound to him until death, not just a year and a day. I can see it in him when he looks at you.”

The woman’s sincerity made Serena smile back. Benjamin Frampton may be a pompous windbag, but his wife was genuine.

“We are to leave today then?”

“Yes, yes, which is why I’ve brought this gown,” Olivia waved her hand towards one maid who promptly held up the nearly finished dress. “It was to be Miss Wimberley’s wedding costume, but the sage green suits your coloring more I think, plus it is almost finished. We will just mold it to your lovely young curves, and it will be yours.”

Serena was speechless. The gown of green velvet was richly embroidered with seed pearls and gold thread. Birds and butterflies flew along the bell of the skirt. Serena even saw several dragonflies glittering amongst the folds.

“It is,” she sat down numbly on the edge of the bed, “exquisite.”

Olivia smiled at Serena’s appreciation. “Good, let us get it on you.” The woman clapped her hands, which signaled the two women to advance upon Serena with a silky shift.

The two sturdy ladies pulled the robe from Serena and threw the shift over her head and down over her body. Serena ran her hands down the softness of the expensive material, too expensive for under clothing.

“I had a few other womanly items to add to your wardrobe.” Olivia indicated the shift. “I hope you don’t mind that they were originally intended for another, but there really isn’t time to outfit you from bolts of material.”

Serena shook her head. “Your graciousness is overwhelming.” Serena’s words huffed out as another maid wrapped her in stays and pulled the strings behind.

“Please call me Olivia,” the woman said squeezing one of Serena’s hands. The jolt of giddiness from the woman flipped through Serena’s stomach. “Now let us have fun.”

Over the course of two hours, Serena was fed, washed, prodded, and pinned while Olivia had fun watching and fussing. While the flitting woman chattered away with her hoard of seamstresses, Serena played the events of last night over and over again. She analyzed each word, each touch, each look until her head ached.

Keenan Maclean had stared at her naked and had claimed her as his. Even if he didn’t stay to physically claim her, as he no doubt would have if Thomas hadn’t barged in. A flutter of nervous energy tickled inside Serena’s stomach at the thought of what would have happened if only…if only they had been left alone, if only he had returned.

Serena frowned. He hadn’t returned, and for a brief moment Serena worried over Ewan. Maybe the man was in peril. The exchange with Thomas had happened so quickly, and she had been so disoriented that she hadn’t thought to read Thomas’s intent at all.

Serena’s mind continued to whirl. But now it was daylight, the passion of the night dissolving with the dawn. What if Keenan acted as if nothing had happened, that he’d never said the words? But he had.
You’re mine, lass.
She heard it, could still hear it.

There had also been a strange connection between them last night. She hadn’t read his thoughts, but rather felt his sensations, wore his emotions as if they were her own. Serena shuddered slightly as she remembered his need to cup her breasts, to feel their weight, to roll her peaked nipples. His deep desire mirrored her own, fine tuning it as if they resonated in harmony. Serena felt the pulsing ache deep down under the layers of fabric as the maids tucked and pinned.

“Oh, it must be getting hot in here. Poor dear, you’re flushed as can be,” Olivia said and opened the window. “Someone break down that fire in the hearth.” Serena forced her mind onto the mundane task of choosing decorative buttons for a long lamb’s wool cloak.

A large, shined looking-glass was brought in for her to see herself. The dress fit perfectly along the contours of her breasts and waist, and then flared out in the full skirts that fell in a wide bell around her legs. Serena turned before the glass and enjoyed the swish of fabric around her ankles. She smiled at Olivia who still prattled happily, completely enthralled with all the details of creating her wedding costume. A costume, Serena thought sadly for a moment, she may never wear.

“There now, Serena, you look lovely,” Olivia crooned. “I’m so happy I decided to give the green costume to you. Your hair stands out even brighter against it.” The tiny woman came up to stroke Serena’s curls. “Such a brilliant shade of auburn with gold spun within it. Just beautiful. I can see why you don’t powder it or wear a wig.”

The four maids all nodded their agreement just before the door to the room flew open causing all four to gasp.

“I told ye to bolt this door,” Keenan strode into the chaos of thread, scraps and pins. All eyes turned to him, his towering shoulders making him a giant in the suddenly cramped room. He stopped, his eyes resting on Serena as she turned toward him.

“Pardon me. I,” he stammered, “I dinna ken ye had visitors.”

“Come, Lord Maclean, this is your room after all.” Olivia waved him over as the nervous maids giggled and stepped back to give him room. Keenan walked closer to Serena where she stood before the glass.

“Turn around for your Highland lord to see you,” Olivia urged and Serena turned her body away from the glass.

Serena curtseyed; a tentative smile curved her lips.

“She will make a lovely bride, don’t you agree?”

Serena watched Keenan’s eyes, but she couldn’t read them. She tried to reach out to him, but the connection had disappeared. As usual, he was a void to her. Panic pulled at her chest and she retreated behind a haughty look. If she hid her heart and convinced herself that it didn’t matter what he thought, then she would be just fine. She would still breathe and live. If she could only build a wall around her heart like she did around her mind.

“Say something,” Olivia teased him.

“Aye.”

“Aye?” Olivia asked. “That’s it.” She smiled mischievously. “Why Serena, have you married a blind man?”

Keenan shook his head and looked toward the woman and then back to Serena. “Aye, I mean Nay. Aye, she will make a lovely bride.”

“There now,” Olivia clapped her hands together. “You will want to get her properly wed before some other fine young man comes along to steal her.”

“Aye,” Keenan mumbled, his eyes back on Serena. It was too difficult to return his stare. Serena smoothed invisible lines in the petticoats. Her finger traced a dragonfly as she tried to ignore the heat of his gaze. It was suddenly hard to breathe in the tight stays.

“Did you want to tell Serena anything, or were you just coming by because you can’t be away from her for long?”

Serena listened to her hostess and peeked from under lowered lashes to see if Keenan still stared at her. He did, and he caught her eye.