Samantha James (8 page)

“Tell me, Glenda. What is it you want?”

She shook her head. Her hands came up between
them. Her fingers opened and closed on his chest…his
naked
chest. Dark, bristly hairs tickled her palm; to her the sensation was shockingly intimate. Yet she did not snatch back her hands—she did not push him away—as she should have.

As she could have.

“Egan? Are you here, lad?”

It was Bernard. They jerked apart. Egan moved first, stepping back from her. Did he curse beneath his breath? Glenda did not wait to find out.

She fled. Her heart was pounding and her lungs labored as if the devil himself nipped at her heels. Her feet did not stop until she was safe in her own chamber and the door was shut. ’Twas then that her strength deserted her. She pressed her back against it and slumped, landing in a heap on the floor.

Thrice now, Egan had almost kissed her.
Thrice
. What madness possessed him? Sweet heaven, what madness possessed
her
?

For Glenda could not deny the yearning that still burned deep in her heart. Just once she longed to feel the touch of his mouth on hers.
Just once
…

In the days that followed, she had only to look at him and she quivered inside. What was she feeling? A feeling unformed. Untamed. But no. She couldn’t lie to herself. She was no innocent. She knew.
She knew
.

For the first time since she’d been married those many years ago, Glenda wondered what it would be like to lay with another man. With Egan.

The thought frightened her. Shamed her to the
depths of her being. She despised herself, for such was a betrayal to the memory of Niall.

Still it persisted, and she despaired her awareness of him.

Always he watched her. Always he was there, his expression impassive, his thoughts hidden behind the screen of his eyes.

Should she insist that he leave? Nay. Nay, she could not! She might as well cut her own throat. Though she hated to admit it, Blackstone’s safety might well rest in his hands. Only yesterday Jeannine had confided that she slept much better, now that Egan was here. Her shoulders slumped. There was so much at stake to risk losing it all now.
Too
much.

Her demeanor was not eased by the presence of Simon. They crossed paths more than once in the next few days. She surveyed him closely, listened intently when he spoke of her tenants. But she could find no fault with him. She had taken to riding in the morning, and saw him several times. The last time they had come upon a cotter named Ellis just outside the village. It had rained heavily the night before, and the track was muddy and rutted. Ellis’s haycart was stuck in the mud. It was Simon who dismounted and helped him dislodge the cart, though he was covered in mud by the time it was done. Ellis thanked him for his generosity, yet his tone was meek. He kept his head bowed low and not once did he meet Simon’s eyes.

Glenda didn’t know what to make of Simon. Oh, aye, he was always polite, ever courteous and gallant. Indeed, he was so earnest, so concerned about her troubles that she could almost have believed that
everyone was mistaken; that Simon had naught to do with the rape of Blackstone lands. Yet something stopped her, a feeling she couldn’t put a name to.

She said naught to Egan of their meetings. Indeed, she said naught to Egan about much of anything, for she was doing her best to avoid him. When he was near, she could not think.

In the solar the next afternoon, she pulled out the heavy leather bound book where the accounts were recorded. With a sigh, she pick up her quill and began to delete those tenants she had been informed had already left.

She’d not been working long before there came a knock on the door. She glanced up just as Simon stepped boldly within. He stopped short as he saw her bent over the book that lay open on the table. With a shake of his blond head, he planted his hands on hips.

“What is this?” he said in mock demand. “Glenda, you work far too hard. ’Tis a fine, warm day outside. Come, join me for a ride.”

“I fear I cannot, Simon. You see, I’ve only just begun and there is much to do. When Uncle Rowan was sick, there was much neglected. It must now be tended to.”

“Then I will keep you company.” Simon made a move to shut the door, but she stopped him with a word.

“Please, Simon, leave it open. ’Tis overly warm in here.”

“Precisely the reason you should leave!” His tone was hearty as he approached. “Now, I know a place where we might spend the afternoon beneath the
shade of a stand of oak trees along the river.”

“Tempting as it sounds, I must say nay.” In truth she had been highly uncomfortable closeted alone with him the other day. She had no wish to repeat it, but softened the refusal with a faint smile.

By now, Glenda had risen to her feet as well. Simon’s gaze fixed on the faint lines etched between slender chestnut brows. He glanced to the ledger, and back again.

“You are worried, aren’t you?”

Glenda was not about to divulge anything to him. “Nay,” she denied quickly.

“You do not fool me, Glenda. You work overmuch. You worry overmuch.”

“’Tis nothing. Truly.”

Simon clasped her hand within his. With the table at her side, and the chair nudging the back of her knees, she could not avoid him. Panic flared briefly, but she reminded herself the door was open. Surely he would not do anything, for if someone should pass by, they could easily be seen.

The hands enfolding hers were soft and smooth, nearly as smooth as her own. Clearly Simon was not a laboring man. She could not withhold the thought that spun through her brain. No doubt Egan’s hands would have felt nothing like Simon’s. She’d glimpsed for herself the roughened calluses on the tips of his fingers, and there was little need to wonder why. Only yesterday he had lent a hand in the fields. She’d seen him from the tower window. And earlier this morn, he had been alongside the mason’s helpers, carrying the rough, heavy bricks to the crumbling
wall where the mason worked. Simon’s hands, she suspected, were not at all like Egan’s.

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me,” he said abruptly. “The Highlander, Egan. When does he return to Dunthorpe?”

Glenda blinked. Was it so obvious, then, where her mind dwelled? “I do not know.”

“You have no need of him, Glenda.”

“Ah, but I do,” she said lightly. “Egan has proved invaluable. Bernard is old and can no longer do what he used to. But already Egan has begun to bring in men to replace those soldiers who deserted when Uncle died.”

“But I could help you as well as he.”

Why was he so insistent? She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Simon, I appreciate your offer, really. But I assure you it’s not necessary—”

“Glenda…Glenda! We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?”

“Aye.” Glenda was beginning to grow uneasy.

“Then you know you can trust me. You do, don’t you?”

“I…of course I do.” Inside she cringed. Faith, but she prayed God was absorbed with someone else just now; that He would not reach down and smite her here and now for speaking such an untruth!

“Then hear me out. I’ve lost a wife. You’ve lost a husband. We have much in common. We share a bond, you and I!” His grip on her hand tightened. “’Tis soon, I know that. But these past days, I’ve thought of no one but you.” He edged nearer.

And I have thought of you, too, only not in a way that you would like
! It was all she could do not to glance
nervously toward the door. Was he asking what she thought he was? Och, but she should have known! Where was Nessa? Jeannine? Anyone, she decided desperately. Did she dare risk offending him?

She summoned a smile, striving for a light tone. “Simon,” she began.

“I must speak with you, Glenda.”

It was Egan. He filled the door, his shoulders so wide they blocked out the light.

Simon released her. “Can you not return later?”

“I cannot.” He was as abrupt as Simon. “I fear ’tis a matter most urgent.” When Simon did not move, black brows arose. “’Tis for her ears alone, sir.”

Anger sped across Simon’s features, but it was swiftly gone. “Very well, then.” He gave a terse bow. “Glenda, I trust I will see you soon.”

Egan’s expression was grim, so very grim. Her pulse began to thud. What? she thought, stricken. What was amiss? She’d heard a lone rider but a short time ago. Perhaps it was Milburn, returned from Dunthorpe. Perhaps something awful had happened to Cameron or Meredith.

The instant Simon made his exit she moved toward Egan. “Tell me what’s wrong, Egan. Tell me!”

He made no answer. Calmly he inquired, “Have the two of you made plans to meet again?”

Her heart tripped over itself. There had been no need to speak with her, she realized dumbly. It had been naught but an excuse, and all at once a surge of pure indignation brought her upright, like a fist plowed into her back.

“How dare you frighten me like that!”

“How dare you be alone with him like that.” His
eyes were cold, his expression remote. It was only through the most stringent effort of will that Egan stopped his rage from boiling over. The sight of her with Simon, her hand cradled snug within his…the way she smiled into his face…

Something snapped inside him. That Simon should touch her so…that she should allow it!

Glenda stiffened. “The door was open,” she pointed out coolly.

“And a good thing it was, or you might even now lie on that table beneath him, your gown hiked up to your waist and your thighs spread wide beneath his.”

She gasped. What need was there to be so crude? Niall had never spoken to her thus. Nor any man with any respect for a gently born woman…Ire surged afresh through her veins.

“Do not look at me like that! You are not a maid, Glenda. You know well and true what I refer to. Or did I mistake the situation?”

“Did I mistake the situation with you and Belinda?”

“You did indeed, but that is not the question here. The question is what you were doing alone with Simon…yet again.”

So he knew. She shouldn’t have felt guilty, yet she did! But she would not allow him to know it. Sweetly she said, “Forgive me if memory fails me, but was it not you who advised me not to make an enemy of him?”

He made a sound of disgust. “Neither did I tell you to warm his bed!”

As he spoke, his eyes slid down the length of her,
a journey both bold and irreverent. His comment was as insolent as his regard, Glenda decided furiously. He had impugned Simon for daring to gaze at her thus, yet he dared far more himself. His gaze lingered with brazen insult on the thrust of her breasts, the place where her thighs joined together. She felt as if he’d stripped her naked! Hating the betraying rush of color in her cheeks, she drew herself up proudly.

Blue eyes clashed endlessly with gold. The very air between them seemed to pulse and seethe as the silence mounted.

It was Glenda who broke it. “Simon asked me when you were leaving! By God, I wish you would!” Sheer anger fueled the remark.

“Oh, you’ve made that quite clear,” he taunted smoothly. “It occurs to me that mayhap Simon is the reason you did not want me to stay—the reason you are so eager for me to leave. Tell me, did Niall know of him—of the two of you?”

Glenda did not think. She simply reacted. Her hand shot out. Never had she slapped a man—never had she laid a hand on another in her life! Yet she knew intuitively that she would enjoy immensely the sting of her palm on his hard cheek.

Alas, there would be no satisfaction, for the blow was never allowed to fall. With the sharply honed senses of a warrior, Egan reached out and caught her wrist. Strong fingers wound tight about her flesh.

Glenda’s head jerked up. A little shock went through her. Ah, but the burning of his eyes should have served as a warning. He was not calm. His jaw was knotted and clenched. He was furious, and she was stunned to realize that never before had she seen
Egan angry. Determined, aye. Brittle with resolve, as well. But angry? Nay. For Egan was a man who was ever in command of himself, ever and always.

Yet now the very flames of hell seemed alive in his eyes. Glenda felt as if she’d been scorched to her very soul.

His mouth was a thin, forbidding line. “Did you encourage him?” he asked tautly. His gaze stabbed into hers, relentless and piercing.

“What if I did? ’Tis no concern of yours.” A righteous anger met and matched his. He was neither her keeper, nor her husband or father, or even her brother. What right did he have to use such a tone with her?

Egan’s teeth came together. “Would you have let him kiss you?”—there came the smallest of pauses—“Did you?”

“You assume I would have allowed him to bed me! Why would I not allow him to kiss me? Indeed, what makes you think I have not? Now let me go, Egan.”

He did not listen. He did not heed. A steely arm snared her about the waist and caught her against him.

With a gasp Glenda looked up at him. They were so close her breasts were crushed against the broadly forged plane of his chest, her feet wedged tight between his boots.

He stared down into her face, his features black as she had never seen them. “Damn you,” he said in a voice that vibrated with something she had never heard before. “Damn you! Why do you deny me what you would give freely to him?”

There would be no reprieve this time. In her heart Glenda knew it…

And then even that thought gave way as his mouth came down on hers.

In all her days, Glenda had kissed no other man but Niall. She had lain with no man but Niall. And so this was like that very first kiss—that first, wondering, yearning taste of a man’s mouth…

Yet ’twas like nothing she’d imagined, this kiss…
Egan’s
kiss. Merciful heavens, she could scarce believe it!

He was still angry. She could feel it in his iron hold. His hands on her waist stayed any movement she might have made—not that she tried, for she was stunned into immobility.

His lips were not hard and punishing, as she had anticipated. Ah, if only they were, for then she would have fought against him with all of her strength…Instead, his mouth was a fiery brand, consuming and hungry and hot as fire. He kissed her with blistering thoroughness. When her lips yielded beneath the demanding pressure of his, his tongue breached within, initiating a wild, plundering rhythm that made her senses spiral and her knees go weak. She could feel him, the iron-corded strength of his thighs braced wide apart as he pulled her snug into the vise of his
thighs. The ridge of his manhood strained against her, unmistakably hard…unmistakably virile.

Her heart began to clamor in her breast. Deep within, a part of her was appalled that she allowed such liberty. Yet now that she had succumbed, his touch was like a drug that invaded every part of her. Addictively persuasive. So devastatingly tormenting that she felt herself carried away—and she cared not where! Perchance she’d known it would be like this. Perchance this was why she’d resisted. Perchance this was why she’d fought so hard against it…

But Egan was tired of fighting. Fighting against her. Fighting against himself. He’d felt the first forbidden stirrings of desire the moment she’d ridden into Dunthorpe alongside Niall all those years ago. No longer could he withhold the rush of desire that had gone unchecked and unsatisfied.

Until now.

A fierce exultation shot through him. This was the sweetest moment of his life. He’d never been so achingly aware of the feel of a woman. She was small and fragile, the slenderest reed in his arms, yet with a suppleness that excited him almost past bearing. The dizzying scent of her filled his nostrils. She smelled like lavender. She tasted of a heaven he’d always known existed…

Yet dared not dream would ever come to pass.

Yet now it had. Now it did. She radiated an earthy sensuality that called out to everything that was wild and primitive within him. With stark, painful clarity, he recalled the mesmerizing sight of her naked body. And now that he had her in his arms, his heart thundered. His rod pulsed with need of her. He could feel
the softness of her breasts against his chest, and he ached to shape her fullness into his palm, to pluck that rosebud tip like the ripest of fruit.

Her head fell back, an invitation Egan could neither deny nor resist. His lips traced a scalding path down the slender arch of her throat, clear to the rounded neckline of her gown. He did not stop until he reached the valley between her breasts, the place where that succulent flesh quivered against his mouth with each and every breath. She felt what he did—oh, aye, for her hastened breath betrayed her. Yet did he dare trespass? By the bones of Christ, did he dare?

With a gasp her hands came up to his shoulders. Slowly Egan raised his head.

She gazed at him, golden eyes dark and glistening, her expression disbelieving. Even as he watched, a hot tide of color rushed into her cheeks.

Her hands curled against him. “Release me,” came her ragged whisper. “Release me!”

The seconds spun out as he regarded her, his eyes dark and depthless. For one awful moment, Glenda feared he would not. Then at last his hands fell to his sides. His features were carefully controlled.

“Why do you do this? Why?” A soft cry of confusion erupted. “You said you were charged with protecting me, but you forget yourself, Egan. You forget yourself!”

He willed aside the sliver of guilt that pricked at him. His mouth twisted. “I forget nothing. And I am not your servant, Glenda.”

“Neither are you my husband!”

The tension that simmered between them was pal
pable. It was alive in every breath, every heartbeat.

Blue eyes flickered. “This was meant to happen, Glenda. You know it as well as I.”

“I know nothing of the sort. You-you should not touch me so! You should not kiss me, for…for what of Niall?” she cried. “What of Niall?”

There was a crackling silence. “What of him?” he said at last.

“He loved you as surely as he loved his own brothers, Egan! Indeed, he thought of you as one! And now you dare to make free with his wife!”

A tempest of fury brewed within him…that
she
should dare to throw this back at him! He cursed silently, long and blackly. Did she think to salvage her own conscience by placing the blame on him? Somehow he’d thought better of her.

A smile that held no mirth twisted his lips. “Ah, but you were not so unwilling, were you?” he said with cool, careless deliberation. “And Niall is dead, lass. He is
dead
.”

Glenda stood mutely. An endless pain washed through her, but in the next instant it was numbed by a cold rage.

“God, but you are arrogant. You are vile and heartless and disgusting!” she flung at him. “And to think Niall called you his friend!” She drew herself up proudly to her full height. “I have no choice but to ask—nay, demand!—that you leave Blackstone.”

His smile withered. His jaw clenched fiercely. For a moment, he looked as if he would explode, but then his expression was replaced by a cool remoteness. He gave a low, stiff bow. He met her gaze, his own icily distant. His lips barely moved as he spoke.

“You need not worry. I will make my way this very day.”

He was right.

She was hardly unwilling. She had made him out to be the villain. Indeed, it was her own fault! Why had she told him that she had let Simon kiss her? Why, the very thought made her shudder in distaste.

Nay, she should never have challenged him. In truth, Glenda didn’t know what had come over her.

It was but a kiss, she told herself after he had gone. Nothing had happened. But she felt as if it had. She felt guilty, and she could not bear it! It was as if with his kiss, a stranger had stirred to life inside her. She no longer knew herself.

God! she thought in anguish. Why couldn’t she have felt nothing?

Niall is dead, Glenda. He is dead
.

Those words still burned inside her. Ah, but he had been unspeakably cruel! Didn’t he know she still mourned him? How much it still hurt to think of Niall, the emptiness of life without him? At times she still felt barren inside, as barren as she’d believed she had been those first few years of marriage.

When Niall had died, a part of her had died along with him—and their child.

A squall blustered inside her. She didn’t understand the emotions tearing at her breast—at her very heart. She desperately needed time to think, time to compose herself. Yet it seemed Egan had no more swept from the room than Nessa shuffled inside.

Glenda had already sunk onto the chair behind the table. Nessa studied her, her eyes sharp despite her
years. “The two o’ ye had words, didn’t ye?”

It was difficult to pretend that naught was amiss, when just now Glenda was certain that everything was amiss. She prayed she would be able to. She raised her head.

“Nay,” she denied.

Nessa made a sound deep in her throat. “I’ve not spent as many years on this earth as I have and not be able to read what lies in a woman’s heart—
and
a man’s eyes.” She leaned upon her staff and gazed at her former charge. “He did not look pleased, nor do ye.”

When Glenda made no answer, Nessa tugged at the fingers of her coif. It had not taken long to discern what went on between the pair, reluctant though they both appeared.

“What troubles ye, lass?”

I have no choice but to ask—nay, demand!—that you leave Blackstone
. Not until the words had passed her lips did Glenda realize what she’d just done. Now it was too late to retract them.

Go after him
, urged a voice inside.
Stop him
.

Still another voice argued against it. How could she? How could she even face him after what had happened? It was pride that spurred her angry demand, she acknowledged. Yet there was no swell of satisfaction in the knowledge. It was that same foolish pride that kept her from going after him now. She would not beg or plead. She cared not if he left and she never saw him again!

Liar
, taunted the voice.

Nay.
Nay
! She had no feelings for him, save relief that he would soon be gone and would trouble her
no more. Nay, no longer would she feel this tug inside whene’er she saw him, and wonder what it was…

She might as well tell Nessa the truth. All would know soon enough anyway.

She took a deep, fortifying breath. “I sent Egan away.”

“When will he be back?”

Glenda lowered her eyes. “He will not.”

“What!” Gnarled fingers curled hard around the staff of ash. “Glenda! Tell me, lass, that ye didn’t send him away for good!”

The censure in the old woman’s voice startled her. “I should have thought that you would be pleased. I thought you did not like him.”

The staff hit the floor with a resounding thump. “Never did I say that! Even if I did, is an old woman not allowed to change her mind?

“Oh, aye,” she went on. “I am not so witless as everyone thinks. Egan says nothing.
You
say nothing. But many a time I’ve seen him gazing toward your solar.”

Glenda’s heart skipped a beat.

“As for ye, child, I’ve seen ye gazing at him when ye think that no one sees.”

Glenda gasped. “I have not!”

“Och, but ye do, lassie! Your eyes follow him, as a lamb follows its mother.”

Glenda gave a shake of her head. “Nay, Nessa, you are wrong. To do so would be a—a betrayal of my marriage vows.”

“Yer husband is no longer here, lassie.”

A fresh surge of resentment coursed through her.
First Egan, now Nessa! “Am I not allowed to grieve?” she cried. “While you did not witness it, I tell you now that I loved Niall with all my heart! I married because my father commanded it, Nessa. But I did not
love
because he commanded it.”

“That is oft the way of love. It comes when you least expect it. Aye,” Nessa agreed bluntly, “you loved your husband. But the time for grieving is past. You must look to the future.”

“I have!” Glenda cried. “That is why I returned here, to Blackstone!”

“Is it?” Nessa’s voice was quiet as the night. “I think you came here to forget.”

Glenda’s eyes opened wide. “How can you say that? And what would you know of love? You’ve never been married!”

For the space of a heartbeat, Nessa hurtled back in time. “Married, nay. But I loved a man once. Once”—there was a long, drawn out pause—“before you were born.”

Glenda lapsed into silence. Her rashness came with a price, she discovered, for a spasm of pain flitted across Nessa’s features. She had no wish to hurt the old woman, and it struck her that this was a side of Nessa never before glimpsed. As far back as she could remember, Nessa had taken care of her and her sister Eleanora; after the pair had grown to womanhood, Glenda had no doubt Nessa had then spent her days taking care of her father. Glenda well remembered the day her mother had been buried. It was in Nessa’s arms she had sought solace, Nessa who had been there to soothe the hurts from that day onward.
Yet beyond that, the old woman’s life was a mystery, and Glenda felt a pinprick of shame.

Shame. Ah, but it was a constant companion this day!

With that, Nessa left the room, her staff a hollow echo on the rough wood floor. She made her way to the great hall, where she questioned the first servant she saw. “You, there! Have ye seen Master Egan?”

“Nay—”

“I have,” piped one of the pantler’s boys. “He is in his chamber.”

Despite her advanced years, despite her infirmity, Nessa moved with urgent compunction toward the tower stair. As the boy predicted, Egan was in his chamber.

She knocked once, waiting impatiently. When he bade her enter, she did and spoke without hesitation.

“You will not tell Glenda of this conversation.”

Egan stuffed the last of his belongings into his pouch and straightened. His smile was grim as he beheld the old woman. “You need not worry. I will not be here.”

“Stay. I pray you, stay.”

Nessa was the last person he thought to expect such fervent words from, indeed, the last things he thought to hear from the old woman. He swung around fully to regard her. To his surprise, her regard held no hint of the wariness he’d come to expect.

His jaw thrust out. “You do not understand,” he began.

“Ah, but I do. I know that she demanded you
leave—I know not why. But she will regret it later. We all will, methinks.”

Egan gave a short, harsh laugh. His mood was not particularly easy just now. What would Nessa say if she knew Glenda had dismissed him as vile and disgusting?

“If she sees me, she will no doubt have me tossed from atop the highest tower.” He did not jest.

“Then do this. Do not journey far. Stay near, but do not leave. There is a woodcutter’s cottage in the forest. No one lives there. You can stay there. I will say naught to anyone.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask such a thing of me? The day we arrived, I could have sworn you’d have liked to slit my throat.”

“I did not know you then. I saw the way you looked at her, as if she belonged to you.”

“Your sight fails you then,” he stated coolly, “for you see what is not there.”

“Do I? Even if that were true, there are some things that are felt as well as seen.” As she spoke, she thumped her free hand to her scrawny breast meaningfully.

Egan stared at her, astounded, amazed, and annoyed all at once. “I cannot,” he said flatly.

“Do not desert her.”

“Desert her! ’Tis
her
wish, not mine!”

“Look after her.”

Bitterness seared him. “She will not allow it.”