Samantha James (21 page)

An awful sensation crowded Egan’s chest. He gripped the edge of the table. “Dear God. Did Niall know?”

“Nay. I would stake my life on it.”

“Does Meredith?”

“Nay.”

“Tell no one, Cameron.”

“You needn’t worry,” Cameron spoke gently. “I won’t.”

Egan’s gaze flitted away. “You must hate me.” His voice was as raw as he felt inside. “I coveted your brother’s wife. I
took
your brother’s wife.”

“No,” Cameron said. “She was his widow. And now she is
your
wife.”

Egan’s gaze swung back. Almost fiercely he ground out, “You
should
hate me!”

“Never in this life. Never on this earth.” Stretching out a lean hand, he laid it on Egan’s shoulder. “Egan,” he said softly, “I wish you only happiness, for you are my brother as surely as Niall ever was. Nay, not in blood…but in spirit.”

Egan’s eyes stung. His chest ached. He could not
speak for all he heard—all he glimpsed in Cameron’s face—for the emotion that swelled his throat. Instead he reached up and briefly squeezed his friend’s bicep, a wordless conveyance of all he felt.

For the span of a heartbeat, they regarded each other.

It was Cameron who finally gave a rusty laugh. “Here we sit, man to man, yet with women’s tears misting our eyes! God forbid that the rest of the household should see us like this!”

A corner of Egan’s mouth curled upward, yet a trace of bleakness bled onto his soul. “I could be happy, if I thought Glenda cared for me.”

“Cared for you!” Cameron tipped his face heavenward. “Lord, man, she’s heavy with your child. She does care for you!”

“She does not. She wed me, for there was naught else to do. The earl insisted she have a strong arm here at Blackstone.”

“Sometimes others see what we do not. Indeed, if not for Glenda, I might never have married Meredith when I did—and alas, she made me feel quite the wretch for not having done so much sooner.”

“Am I a fool, Cameron?”

“Nay, not a fool. You are in love. If you are a fool, then so am I!” Cameron raised his tankard high. “To fools everywhere, and the women who make them so!”

Both men drank deeply. Before long, the effects of the ale had begun to show.

“You know,” Egan said with a gleam in his eye, “’tis not Glenda but me you should thank for Meredith and your children.”

“You? ’Twas
you
who argued against taking her from the nunnery. But when I did…why, you would have much rather murdered her, not once, but twice!”

“She was a Munro!” Egan defended himself staunchly. “I but defended your honor after the massacre of your family, for I did not think a Munro deserved to live! And you did as you pleased with her anyway. So you see, I deserve your gratitude.”

“Ah, but then you were convinced she tried to poison me! Why should I thank you?”

“Because I did not act upon it! Besides, I did not know her as well as you!”

“That was good, for I think I’d have killed you if you had!”

It was a long time later before they stumbled up the tower stairs. Hearing the ruckus in the hall, Glenda tugged the door open.

Both nearly fell inside—and then erupted into hoarse, male laughter.

Glenda jammed her hands on her hips and glared. “Hush!” she admonished sternly. “Brodie is asleep, and he is exhausted from the journey.”

Cameron peered within the shadowed chamber. “Where is he?”

Glenda pointed. “There, on the bed.”

He weaved toward it. There was a crash, followed by a black curse.

“You kicked the stool. Here, let me get the candle.” Egan snatched a tallow candle from the spike on the wall. Yellow light undulated on the far wall.

Glenda’s eyes widened. Cameron was bent low,
rubbing his shin. Egan had nearly caught his tunic afire.

The unmistakable odor of ale now permeated the room. “Och!” she cried. “You’re sotted, both of you!”

Cameron picked up Brodie and turned. “Not so!”

With a mutinous glare, she pressed a finger to her lips and indicated his slumbering son.

“Sorry, I forgot.” Cameron’s whisper was still overly loud. Smiling crookedly down at his son, he pressed a decidedly sloppy kiss on Brodie’s cheek.

Egan pulled a face. “You’re slobbering on the poor lad!”

“I do not slobber,” Cameron informed him with a scowl. “Babes slobber. Aileen slobbers. The new babe will slobber. Without question, yours will…”

“For pity’s sake! I should have known this would happen with the two of you together again!” Try though she might, Glenda couldn’t be angry with the pair.

“Cameron, put your son to bed”—she marched to the door and held it wide—“and yourself along with him.”

“Aye, lady.”

His tone duly chastened, Cameron cradled his son in his arms and ducked through the door. Glenda remained where she was, expecting Egan to follow.

He did not. With a surety that belied his drunken state, he replaced the taper on its spike. A single step brought him alongside her.

With the heel of his hand, he closed the door.

“’Tis a good thing you weren’t sleeping naked. I would have been furious if Cameron had seen you unclothed. So, I think, would Meredith.”

Glenda blinked. This was the last thing she’d expected him to say! All at once she was flustered without knowing quite why. “I cannot think why you would be jealous. I’m fat as a sow.”

“No, you’re not. You’re beautiful.” His gaze wandered slowly down her form. “But you should only be naked with me, Glenda.”

“I am not naked at all!”

“Nay, sweet. Not yet.”

Heat flooded her. The huskiness in his voice made her breath catch. Even drunk, he made her shiver inside. And when he gazed at her the way he was just now, she couldn’t even think.

“Egan.” Tentatively she spoke his name. “’Tis late. We should be abed—”

“We should indeed.”

Strong arms came hard around her, lifting her high aloft, as if she weighed no more than the down of a thistle. With a swiftness that startled her, the candle was blown out and he was striding toward the bed. She flung her arms about his neck.

“Egan, be careful!”

Already she was being lowered to the mattress. Her gown was whisked over her head. Almost before she could draw breath, he’d shucked his own clothes. Lean, hair-roughened limbs slid against her own softness.

Her heart lurched. “Egan, what are you doing?”

“A husband and wife should not sleep apart.”

Her lungs emptied. Once again she was caught snug within the binding circle of his embrace. Oh, but he was as arrogant as ever!

There was a perilous coil of heat low in her belly.
Her fingers curled against his shoulders—in denial or invitation? “’Twas you who chose to sleep elsewhere,” she said shakily.

“Cameron and Meredith do not sleep apart. They sleep together. So should we.”

“Oh!” she cried. “Because they do, so must we? That is why you’re here?”

His arms tightened. “Nay,” he muttered. “That has nothing to do with us. With you…”

His eyes glimmered above her, blue fire in the night…crimson flames in her heart. His mouth took command of hers in a long, unbroken kiss. A thrill shot through her. He still wanted her! Her heart sang. Did he truly think she was beautiful? He made her feel beautiful, when he kissed her with such sweet, ardent persuasion.

Warm lips traced the arch of her throat. Her hands ran wild over his back, skimming straining muscles beneath sleek satin skin. He nuzzled the hollow between her breasts. A sinewy thigh inserted itself between her legs.

In fevered abandon, she breathed his name.

There was no response, not aloud nor otherwise. Gradually she felt the iron strength seep from the arms that held her.

“Egan?” she whispered again.

A gentle snore was her only answer. Glenda didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Whatever amorous intentions her husband had harbored—whatever intentions
she
might have had—they’d gone the way of the wind.

Her husband was fast asleep.

When Glenda roused the next morning, he was gone. She couldn’t help but feel bereft. Unbidden, her hand crept out to the spot where he’d lain. The sheet still bore the imprint of his body. It didn’t matter that they had slept chastely. When he’d come to her room last night, the cool, hard edge that had marked his manner of late had vanished. She missed him desperately; missed the heat of his body in the chill of the night, the strength of his arms about her back.

A stark yearning surged within her. Her throat swelled with the memory. For a while last night, she hadn’t felt so empty, so very alone.

Just before the noonday meal, she came upon him in the hall. Her gaze was full and direct; Egan’s eyes but grazed hers. They were quickly averted, as were his steps.

Glenda’s soul cried out. Inside she was devastated. Did he regret the hours spent with her in her bed?

He did not speak of it, even when they found themselves alone in the hall later that eve, waiting for Cameron and Brodie.

Nor would she, for it was just as she’d told him last night. She swung between the depths of despair and a righteous outrage. He’d taken himself from their bed…it was up to him to return. She would not beg or plead, for she had her pride as well.

The next evening, the scenario was similar. All of them remained at table for a long time. Brodie fell asleep against his father’s legs. Tired, Glenda excused herself, taking the lad upstairs with her. Yet despite her weariness and her earlier vow, she made herself stay awake.

Egan and Cameron remained in the hall for a long time. When she heard their footsteps in the passage outside, she held her breath.

This time they were not sotted.

Nor did Egan remain.

In her chamber the next morning, she pushed the shutters aside and glanced out into the bailey. Egan had just dismounted from his stallion. A small figure ran toward him—Brodie. Egan caught him and lifted him high in his arms. Even from here, Glenda could see the laughter that blunted his rough-hewn features. A lean hand smoothed the back of Brodie’s dark head. Such strength. Such gentleness, she found herself musing…Her heart wrenched. She, too, had known the gentle touch of that hand, and its powerful strength as well. But now there was so much distance between them…

Egan placed the lad upon his stallion. Taking the reins from the stableboy, he began to lead the horse across the grass.

Her hand slipped to the mound of her belly. What would their child be like? she found herself ponder
ing. Dark like Egan, with long-lashed eyes as blue as a sunlit sky? Or with her own golden coloring? She did not mind whether the child was lad or lassie.

“Grow strong, little one,” she murmured aloud, “as strong as the stoutest oak tree.” Her eyes closed. She directed a fervent prayer heavenward that she would remain well—that their child would be healthy and sound as her first had not. As if the babe heard her, her belly rippled as the child rolled vigorously in her womb.

Glenda smiled.

That night as she prepared for bed, there was a sudden clamor in the bailey. Glenda looked up from where she sat brushing her hair before the warmth of the fire.

“What is it?” she asked. Jeannine had moved to the window and stood looking out.

Jeannine shook her head, a slight crease between her brows. “I know not. But the groom is bringing out Egan’s horse.”

Glenda flew to the window to see for herself. Several men carrying torches strode toward the guardhouse. Egan stood near the entrance to the tower, talking to a sentry, his features grim. An odd shiver played over her skin.

The brush fell from her fingers. She hastened from the chamber and down the stairs. Outside, a frigid blast of air hit her like an icy brine, but she paid no heed. A fierce gust sent her hair streaming, whipping about her face. She dragged it aside and began to run, unable to see her path, but plunging ahead anyway. In her haste, she tripped on her gown. A shrill cry tore from her throat, for she felt herself tumbling for
ward. She flung out her hands to catch her fall, that she would not land on her belly.

There was no need. Strong hands caught her and brought her upright.

With a gasp she looked up into Egan’s face. Somehow, she thought with a pang, he was always there when she needed him. Always…

“Glenda! What are you doing here? Where is your mantle?” His frame of mind was unconcealed. The harsh line of his mouth exactly matched his voice.

She glanced past him, where a stableboy held the reins to his stallion, now fully saddled.

“Where are you going, Egan? What’s wrong?”

His jaw thrust forward. For a moment she thought he would refuse to answer. “The miller’s boy just rode in. He saw men riding in the forest. They wore cloth tied about their faces.”

A full-fledged panic assailed her. The raiders! “You cannot go alone!”

“Cameron goes with me,” he said tersely. “I’ve men out, but there’s no telling where they are. I’m taking others with me. We’ll ride in parties of two so we can cover more ground. Now go inside.”

Her pulse was clamoring. What if they were outnumbered? What if he was hurt? Caught in the rampage of the wind—in the rampage of her heart—she remained where she was.

She wanted him to kiss her, she realized. Wanted it with a desperation that made her long to reach out to him, to draw his mouth down to hers for his kiss, however brief it might be. She twisted her hands in her skirts to stop from doing precisely that.

“Egan—”

He whirled, his countenance black and scowling. “Have you no thought for the babe? Go inside!”

His sharpness stung. There was no mention of her. It was the babe he cared about, not her. Pierced by a bittersweet pang, tears burned her throat, her eyes. But she would not cry before him, she vowed, she would not!

There was a hand on her arm. It was Cameron.

“Will you stay with Brodie?”

“Aye. Aye, of course.”

“Good. I asked a maid to take him to your chamber.”

She nodded. Egan was already atop his stallion, his reins in hand.

“Cameron!”

Cameron hesitated. His gaze slid from her to Egan, and back again. “He’ll be all right, Glenda. Do not fret.” Already he was striding away.

She drew a deep breath. “May God be with you both,” she called.

Cameron waved. Egan gave no sign that he even heard. He rode off without a word, without a kiss, without a touch…without even a farewell.

It was only later that she told herself it was foolish to feel so abandoned. No doubt the raiders consumed his attention—and his concentration. Yet somehow she couldn’t quite erase the hurt she felt.

In her chamber, she slipped into bed and gathered Brodie’s small body against her. After a while he shifted restlessly, whimpering a little. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Glenda had left a candle burning so that if he awoke, he would not be alarmed.

Tears welled in his eyes. “Where is Papa?”

Gazing down into his forlorn little features, Glenda felt her heart turn over. Brodie was such a sweet-natured child; it was unlike him to cry and complain.

“He and Egan had to ride out, I’m afraid.” She smoothed the black hair that tangled on his forehead. With a smile she sought to reassure him. “He’ll be back.”

His lower lip trembled. “When?”

“Soon, Brodie. Very soon. When you awaken, he will be here.” She hoped. Dear God, she prayed…!

“You are such a brave little lad, love,” she said cheerfully, then shivered apurpose. “Will you help me to keep warm?” She held out her arms.

Brodie came into them and nestled against her. Glenda hugged his stout little body tight, soothing him back to sleep. Within minutes he was asleep again, his cheek curled against her shoulder, a chubby hand fisted against his chest.

There was no such ease for Glenda. She stared at the shifting shadows of the firelight dancing on the ceiling, her ears straining for some sign that the men had returned.

Hours passed, an eternity.

The embers in the fire were no longer toasty and warm. The meager ray of light from the stub of candle flickered, then went out. There was a sudden chill in the room, a chill that crept round her heart, invaded every corner of her being. She shivered, but not with cold. Nay, not with cold.

Tucking the covers tight around Brodie, she slipped from the bed. Moving to the window, she eased the shutters aside.

There was no sign of movement, no sign of Egan.
The bailey was dark and deserted. Beyond the walls, the earth lay utterly still. Clouds scuttled across the pale sliver of moon, and then even that frail light was gone.

The memory revived. Unbidden. Unwanted. With vivid clarity, she recalled another time at Dunthorpe when she had been watching. Watching and waiting anxiously for her husband to return…

Pray God the outcome was not the same.

A half-sob wedged in her throat. She smothered it by pressing the back of her hand to her lips.

Brodie whimpered in his sleep. She crawled back into the softness of the bed, though she knew there would be no rest, no sleep until Egan and Cameron were back unharmed.

She started at each shout of the sentry, the echo of hoofbeats, darting to the window to look outside. Over the next several hours, the men returned, two by two.

All but Egan and Cameron.

The usual commotion of the household had already begun. A cock crowed. Voices came from a distance. Glenda began to truly despair when at last the pair appeared beneath the gatehouse. They were both back, alive and well, thank God!

Footsteps thumped on the stairs a short time later. It was Cameron, come to retrieve Brodie. She stifled her disappointment, for Egan was not with him.

His expression sober, Cameron relayed that no one had found any trace of men on horseback, masked or otherwise. There were tracks in the mud, but they could have been from their own men. Nor had anyone discovered signs of any villainy, but Glenda
knew it might be later in the day before that was known.

“Simon is here,” Nessa told her some time later.

Glenda arched a thoughtful brow. “Indeed,” she murmured. “We’ve seen little of him since the wedding. I wonder what brings him.” She paused. “Is Egan here?”

“I know not. Cameron and Brodie and some of the other men went out hunting, but I did not notice if Egan was with them.”

“Well, then, I have no choice but to see him.” In truth, she was rather uncomfortable at the idea of seeing Simon without Egan present. But she could hardly leave him alone. Putting aside her sewing, she descended to the hall.

Simon stood warming his limbs before the fire.

He turned and spied her, his greeting hearty. “Glenda! You’re looking well!” His gaze ran down her body. There was a nearly imperceptible pause on her midriff.

“I am, thank you.” Glenda inclined her head. “And you, Simon?”

“Well enough, I suppose, considering this beastly cold!”

“Then perhaps you’d like some hot, spiced wine to warm you.” She beckoned to a maid, who went to fetch it.

When the girl was gone, he turned to her with a half-smile. “Ah, Glenda,” he said with a sigh. “’Tis not pleasure that brings me here, I fear.”

“If not pleasure, then what?”

It was Egan. He stood just behind her. She felt his presence even before she heard him. For a split sec
ond, a hard light shone in Simon’s eyes—or did it? It vanished so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. Not that she could blame him, she realized. Egan’s tone was curt; she’d been brought up to be gracious, and in her mind, such rudeness was not warranted.

“Egan! How are you, man?”

“Well.” Egan was downright grim. “What brings you here, Simon?”

“I heard tell there was some trouble last night.”

“No trouble. But some strangers were seen, aye.”

“Masked riders?”

“Aye.”

Beside her, Glenda had felt Egan stiffen. The admission came reluctantly, it seemed.

“I knew it! Without doubt they are the very same, then.”

“The very same?”

“Indeed. I came to warn you, you see. These men were seen on my lands as well.”

Perhaps because they came from your lands
. Egan couldn’t help the thought that tolled through his mind.

“Was any harm done?”

“Nay, nay! For that, I am thankful.” Simon tipped his head to the side. “But I understand you and your friend from the Highlands rode out to investigate.”

Egan’s eyes flickered. “Cameron. Aye, we did.”

“And you found nothing? No trace of these men?”

“Nay.”

Glenda didn’t dare look at Egan. She could feel the tension emanating from him.

Simon paused. “I know not how to say this…but, if you’ve need for more men…”

Egan cursed silently. Oh, but the rogue would still do his damndest to belittle him and make him appear small—and always before his wife!

He forced a thin smile. “I do hope that you do not imply that my men are less capable than yours?”

Simon spread his hands wide. “You need not take offense—”

“And none is taken.”

“’Tis simply that all know how Blackstone’s resources have been tested—”

Egan wanted to grind his teeth in impotent rage. Faith, but the man knew not when to quit!

His smile did not waver. “A problem which has been resolved, I assure you.”

Simon’s lips compressed, but he had no comeback. Pleased, Egan took the other man’s arm and started toward the door. “Had I known you were here, I would have arrived much sooner. Please let us know the next time you wish to visit and I shall allot more time. As it is, well, I fear I’ve much to do this morn, and so does my wife.”

With that Simon was hustled through the door.

“Well, if he wasn’t your enemy before now, I’ve no doubt it won’t be long before he is.”

Turning to face her, Egan took exception to the bite in her tone. “Would you have me be like you? Offer him wine and comfort and warmth?”

His mockery cut deep. “I would have you be civil, or do I ask too much?”

“However much you decry it, this is my home, too. Simon is not welcome to come and go as he pleases.”
By God, if she would criticize, then so would he.

For pity’s sake…“He does not come and go as he pleases!”