Highland Protector (12 page)

“Innocence?” Hepbourn laughed. “The woman’s dagger was found in Ian’s heart. How can ye think she is innocent?”

“I didnae say that I thought her innocent or guilty, just that there is nay any proof to say she is guilty. Naught but that dagger and we all ken how easy it would be for someone to use her dagger to do the killing, kenning full weel that she would be blamed.”

Ian nodded slowly. “True. Verra true.”

“Ye are both just saying this because she is a woman,” snapped Hepbourn. “Women are capable of killing and plotting.”

“Of course they are,” agreed Simon. “Sometimes with far more stealth and cunning than any mon. But ‘tis my way to look for the truth, Sir Walter, and I havenae found any proof that she or her clan are what everyone is claiming they are.”

“Weel, ye just keep searching for your cursed proof. The rest of us will search for that traitorous killer.”

“If ye feel ye must. I would suggest that ye bring her to the king alive. After all, if she is hastily executed and then proven to be innocent, ye would become the killer, now wouldnae ye?” As Hepbourn stood there speechless, Simon turned to Ian. “Good to meet ye, sir.”

That last statement to Hepbourn probably had not been the wisest thing he had ever said, Simon thought as he made his way through the crowd. He did not regret it though. The man was working hard to get a young woman accused, tried, and convicted of crimes Simon was increasingly certain Hepbourn himself was guilty of. If Hepbourn was not so visible at the king’s court and so well liked, Simon would have grabbed him, dragged him to a private place and happily beaten the truth out of him. Now, however, he had to get back home and try to calmly talk some sense into a certain blue-eyed woman.

Ilsabeth was just settling herself beneath the warm covers of her bed, mourning the fact that she was doing so alone again, when the door to her bedchamber slammed open. She barely smothered the scream that rushed to her throat as she thought the king’s soldiers had finally found her. Just as she leapt from the bed, she realized it was only one man and, in the dim flickering light from the fire that man looked to be a very angry Simon. Somehow he had discovered that she had left the protection of his house.

“Have ye lost whae’er few wits ye may have had in that bonnie head?” he snapped as he shut the door behind him and advanced on the bed.

Ilsabeth was so stunned by this display of hot anger from her cool, often cold, and very con trolled man that it took her a moment to understand what he had just said. “Are ye calling me witless?” Anger prodded her to leap back onto the bed and swiftly cross it until she knelt on the edge, meeting Simon’s glare with one of her own.

“What else can one call a lass who goes wandering about the town e’en though she kens she is being hunted for the crimes of murder and treason?”

“I needed to get some herbs for a potion.”

“I pray it was one to make your wits keener or, at least, give ye some understanding of the danger ye are in.”

“Elen had a soreness in her throat!”

Despite a pinch of fear for the child who had quickly wound herself around his heart, Simon’s fury did not ease much. “If they only thought ye a murderess, it wouldnae be so dangerous, but they think ye are a traitor, too. Can ye nay understand that, if they get their hands on ye, I might nay be able to stop a swift execution? Not everyone cares that there be actual proof of a crime. The king has already suffered the bitter sting of betrayal. There will be little mercy to be found if ye are brought before him.”

She knew that, but tried hard not to think of it too often. The terror it inspired chilled her to the very marrow of her bones. Instead, Ilsabeth settled all of her attention on Simon’s anger. He was a man who kept a tight rein on his emotions yet he was scolding and bellowing at her because he knew she had put her life in danger. She had to believe that it was more than a strong sense of responsibility for her that drove his fear and anger.

The moment she placed her hands on his cheeks all his muttering about foolish women marching blindly into danger ceased. She leaned forward until her body was pressed against his and heard him catch his breath. The stormy gray of his eyes changed into the rich, dark gray of desire. He lifted his hands to grasp her arms, but his hold on her quickly turned into a caress, and Ilsabeth trembled.

“I wore my nun’s garb,” she said, and brushed a kiss over his mouth. “It was but ill fate that put that fool there to see me.”

“He not only saw ye; he recognized ye.” He had to struggle to keep his eyes open when she kissed his cheek. “The whole of the king’s court was whispering about it. Soldiers will now be looking for a blue-eyed nun.”

“And they willnae find her for she willnae be skipping through town again nor at the nearest convent nor anywhere else they might look.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled at him. “I wouldnae have done it at all if I had had any other choice. MacBean and Old Bega didnae ken what I needed, where to ask for it, or even which would be the best to select, and I couldnae ignore Elen’s sore throat. True, it now appears that it wasnae of much importance, but it could have been a sign of something more, of something deadly.”

“I ken it.” Simon found it difficult to speak while she was kissing his neck. The warmth of her lips was rushing straight down to his groin. “Ilsabeth, ye should stop. I am nay at my strongest just now.”

“Oh, good.” Ilsabeth nipped at his chin as she watched his face and nearly grinned when his eyes widened.

“Honor demands...” “Bugger honor.”

Simon laughed briefly at her crudity but quickly grew serious again. “Ye are a maid.”

“Aye, I am. A maid of one and twenty years. A maid who was betrothed. A maid who suddenly is verra, verra tired of being a maid.”

He groaned softly as she unlaced his shirt and kissed the hollow at the base of his throat. Simon ached to grab what she offered, to wallow mindlessly in the passion he knew they could share, but a few shredded tatters of good sense remained. It was enough to keep him from immediately hurling her to the bed, tearing off the thin linen nightgown she wore, and burying himself deep inside her. If he was going to become her lover, he was going to attempt to do so with some finesse. He may have lost the control to refuse what she offered, but he was determined to find enough control to make her first time with a man something she would recall with fondness and pleasure.

“Are ye thinking of running away again?” she whispered by his ear before lightly biting his ear-lobe.

“I should. Ye can ne’er return to being a maid.” “I should pray not.”

Simon pushed her away. The disappointment and hurt upon her face decided him. He might not understand why she wanted him, but she did, and his running each time desire flared between them was hurting her. That he could not do. It shamed him to realize how little thought he had given to her feelings each time he had fled the desire she stirred within him. He started to shed his clothes and the way her eyes brightened with interest stroked his vanity. He just hoped the beautiful eyes considered to view him with favor when she saw his back.

“No running this time?”

Ilsabeth was not surprised to hear how husky her voice had grown, for the sight of Simon’s body had her panting like a hard-run hound. His shoulders and chest were broad enough to please any woman. The rest of his tall, lean body was all smooth skin and taut muscle. There was only a small patch of hair on his chest. Her gaze moved down his body until she saw the dark arrow of hair that began below his navel and thickened slightly around his groin. The long, hard jut of his manhood told her that he was more than ready to become her lover. He stood with his legs apart, the hair-roughened strength of those limbs making her palms itch with the urge to touch them.

“Nay, no more running,” he said, and nearly grinned at the way her gaze settled on his groin. “Are ye about to run?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” His voice came out as almost a growl as he leapt onto the bed and pushed her down until she was sprawled beneath him. “I think I might just chase ye if ye did.”

Simon kissed her, savoring the taste of her as he unlaced her nightgown. As soon as he undid the last tie, he pulled it off her and tossed it aside. Her body was far more lushly built than he had imagined during too many sleepless nights, her breast full and high, dark rose nipples hard and inviting. Her hips bowed out nicely from her small waist and her legs looked surprisingly long and well muscled. The sight of the tidy wedge of black curls between her pale thighs had him fighting the urge to bury his face in there. He placed his hands just beneath her breasts and slowly moved them upward until he held the soft flesh in both hands. Ilsabeth gasped and he kissed her again.

Ilsabeth wrapped her arms around him as she lost herself in his hungry kiss. She stroked his broad muscular back and could not halt the way her body briefly tensed in shock. Simon’s back was covered in scars. Before she could hide her reaction to them, she felt Simon’s body tense as well.

“Can ye abide it?” he asked as he nuzzled her throat and tried to sound as if her answer did not matter to him.

“Aye, of course I can, but, Jesu, Simon, what happened?”

“I will tell ye later. Now that I have ye naked and beneath me, the verra last thing I wish to do is to speak about an old misery.”

He kissed his way down to her breasts. The way he was caressing them with his lightly calloused hands, stroking the hard tips with his long fingers until they ached, had her passion running hot. When he took one taut end deep into his mouth, suckling and lashing it with his tongue, Ilsabeth was surprised she did not swoon from the force of the desire that swamped her.

She was just caressing his taut backside when he slipped his hand between her legs. The way he stroked her heated flesh and slipped his finger inside her in imitation of the intimacy they both craved, had her crying out in demand. Ilsabeth was not precisely sure how well they would fit together, but she wanted him inside her. Now.

“Need to go slowly,” Simon said, nearly groaning the words against her silken breasts. He slipped another finger inside her and trembled at the way her wet heat closed tight around his fingers. “Need to ready ye.”

“I have been ready for days.”

Simon choked out a laugh and then began to slowly join their bodies. When he reached the barrier of her maidenhead he took a deep breath, pulled back, and then rammed his way through it until he was fully seated within her. Ilsabeth’s soft shriek did not startle him but the sting of her small sharp teeth digging into his shoulder did. It also made his passion soar until he was a hairsbreadth from a complete loss of control. She clung to him with her whole body as he pounded into her, cursing himself as a brute but unable to stop. Her release hit hard and, reveling in her soft cries and the hot, wet clasp of her body, he swiftly joined her in that sweet, rapid tumble.

It took Simon several moments before he could catch his breath enough to ask, “Are ye hurt?”

Ilsabeth thought on her answer for a moment and then said, “Nay. Why? Are ye ready to run again?” She lazily caressed his body everywhere she could reach.

“Nay, and once I regain my breath and my strength, I will show ye that I can do this slowly, too.”

“I eagerly await the lesson.”

He smiled against her skin. Simon did not think he had ever experienced such passion before. It astonished him that he had held back for so long. A little voice in his head told him that this had been a mistake, that he should not have given in to his desire for a woman who had been put under his protection, but he ruthlessly silenced it. That was a problem to sort out later, after he proved her innocence.

Ilsabeth stared up at the ceiling even though it was too shadowed to see anything. Simon almost idly kissed and caressed her and the spark of desire began to heat her blood again. She should be blindly happy. The man she loved was in her arms.

One little thing dimmed that happiness, however. Simon had not spoken one word about how he felt about her. If he had said anything while they had made love, she had been too blinded by her own passion to hear it, but instinct told her he had not said anything more than passionate words about how she tasted or how soft her skin was. She needed so much more than that.

Patience, she warned herself. She may have known he would be the man for her from nearly the moment she set eyes on him, but not everyone made such an important decision so quickly. Men were also notoriously slow to see where their hearts lay.

Neither was she truly free to follow her heart. It could even be cruel to try and make him love her when she might soon be dead. Ilsabeth had seen enough of the world’s injustices to know that just because she was innocent did not mean she would escape punishment.

She also admitted that she was the one who needed this closeness now, whether words of love were spoken by him or not. Hiding, fearing the possibility that she could be dragged off to some deep, dark dungeon at any moment, and afraid for her family, she needed someone to hold on to. For now she would allow that to be enough. She would push her love for him to one side and make no demands. The very last thing she wished to do was send him running again.

“Where is that child?” demanded Old Bega as she stomped into the hall where Reid and Ilsabeth worked on his numbers. “I cannae find the bairn anywhere. She was with me in the kitchen and then she was gone.”

Ilsabeth felt a tickle of worry cut through her high spirits. She had woken up in Simon’s arms for the third morning in a row and was finally certain that he was no longer running from her. He had not even crept from the bed like some thief in the night but lingered to make love to her again. She was not fool enough to mistake his passion or sweet words for love, but she was hopeful that she would soon know both. Ilsabeth could not believe that a man could make love to a woman as he did her and hold her throughout the night without feeling more for her than simply passion.

“Mayhap she is but playing hide-and-go-seek with ye,” said Ilsabeth. “Elen does love that game.”