Samantha James (13 page)

That was not the case at the next table. Midway through the meal, a prickle went down her spine. Meredith raised her head, to discover herself the sole object of ill-concealed hatred. Meredith blinked. It was Moire, the woman she’d seen in the bailey earlier with Cameron—was it true they planned to marry? Up close, Meredith was stunned to realize she’d underestimated the woman’s beauty. Wavy black hair spilled over white, creamy shoulders. Full lips shone dewy and red, damp with the wine she’d just drunk.

Quickly Meredith recovered. She offered a tentative smile; when it remained unanswered, her own wavered. Moire stared at her coldly. Discomfited, Meredith glanced away. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Moire rise and approach their table. Tall and
voluptuous, there was a provocative sway in her hips as she strode straight to Cameron.

A small white hand settled familiarly on one of his shoulders—ah, only now those lips smiled and seduced. Bending low, she whispered into his ear. Meredith reached for her wine, pretending not to notice.

Beside her, there was an unexpected rumble of laughter from his chest. Moire made as if to rise. Cameron caught her elbow and whispered something in return. Tinkling laughter joined his before she moved on.

Just then a little boy raced up, a lad of perhaps seven or eight. He stopped directly before Cameron.

“Ye’re Cameron, aren’t ye?”

“I am,” Cameron said promptly. “You are Marcus, aren’t you? And Stephen the wheelwright is your father.”

The child beamed at being recognized. His small chest puffed out. “Aye, my da is a wheelwright.” He gazed up into Cameron’s features. “But you are bigger than my da,” he said earnestly.

“I am,” Cameron agreed with a nod. “But that does not make your father a lesser man. Indeed, the measure of a man comes from here”—Cameron thumped his chest—“and here”—he tapped his forehead with his fingertips. “’Tis what my father taught me—what your father will teach you.”

The lad frowned. “Why will he teach me that?”

Cameron laid a hand on the back of the boy’s head. “Because that is what fathers do,” he said softly.

The boy ran off then, but Meredith had gone very still inside. Her heart caught painfully. Cameron’s behavior with the boy was wholly unexpected…and wholly at odds with his demands of her. She’d been
convinced he was the hardest man to ever walk this earth. Now she was not so sure…

The thought was abruptly cut short. Beside her, Cameron rose, bidding all good night. “I fear sleep beckons early tonight,” he said by way of explanation. There was a deliberate pause. “Meredith?” he inquired coolly.

A glance revealed he’d extended a hand, palm up. Heavy brows raised in expectant silence. She was the sole object of his scrutiny—his and every other’s.

His gentleness with the boy was forgotten. All at once fury battled alongside a deep, abiding shame. Meredith’s face burned. Why, he might as well have announced that he’d already bedded her, the lout! Ah, no doubt that was his intent! Still, she decided scathingly, she was surprised he hadn’t invited the lovely Moire to join them…or perhaps he had!

Meredith pushed herself to her feet and turned. Hiking her chin, she brushed by him, ignoring his hand as if she hadn’t seen it. Perhaps she was playing with fire, yet it was immensely gratifying when she noticed his features tighten ever so slightly.

On the way to the stair they passed directly by Moire. She inclined her head to Cameron, but her smile turned brittle as her gaze skipped to Meredith.

Meredith didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It seemed she’d made yet another enemy—not by deed or word, but by simple virtue of her existence.

When they left the hall behind, she longed to release a deep-seated sigh of relief. But alas, she was not allowed the luxury. The tall figure beside her was an unwelcome warning that the night was not yet over. His words suddenly played over and over through her head.

You have robbed me of this night, but you’ll not
rob me of the next. The night will come again…and I promise you—nay, I
vow—
so will I
.

Distracted as she was, she scarcely noticed where they went. It wasn’t until they’d passed the narrow arched doorway which led to the tower stair that she realized something was wrong.

“Wait,” she said. “My chamber is that way.” She nodded back over her shoulder.

“Not anymore,” was all he said.

Retreat proved impossible, for now he’d snared her elbow firmly within his grasp. Her pace was not allowed to falter as he steered her farther down the passageway, beneath a wide stone arch, and into a narrow, winding stairway. Up they went—and even farther up—so high that Meredith’s legs protested their burden and her breath grew short. She stumbled once. Immediately a hard arm caught her and brought her up against him. For one mind-spinning instant, she was locked fast against the solid breadth of his chest. With a gasp she looked up into his face.

The way he arched a single black brow lent him a decidedly villainous look. “Careful, lass,” came his low murmur. “’Tis a long way down. A fall might easily break your frail little neck.”

Meredith blanched. A knot of fear coiled deep in her belly. Saints above, would he murder her yet? The stairs were indeed steep and treacherous. It would take but a small push to send her tumbling…

He released her. Meredith righted herself, one hand finding the rough stone as she regained her balance. Her heart was clamoring so hard she could scarcely think.

A dozen more steps were all that was left. They ended before a wide oak door carved with diamond-
shaped panels. Cameron threw it open and gestured her inside.

“Your new quarters, milady.”

Her pulse hammering, Meredith stepped into an immense chamber that was easily thrice the size of the one she’d occupied the night before. A fat candle burned near the bed, which dominated the far wall. An assortment of weapons—including a massive claymore—were propped near the fireplace. To her shock, her bed gown had been draped across the bed.

She said the first thing that vaulted into her head. “These are
your
quarters!”

He folded his arms across his broad chest—the bold invader again. “Aye,” he said smoothly, “for I missed the night we spent apart. It seems I’ve grown used to the feel of you beside me.”

Her nerves were already screaming. The lazy smile that lurked upon his lips did not bode well for her, she was certain of it. Ah, how she envied him his glib, facile tongue! Her own suddenly seemed all twisted and dry in her mouth. Though she searched frantically for a suitably scathing reply, none came to mind.

His eyes resided on her face. “Ah, you wound me sorely, lass. You look like a lamb about to be slaughtered. I assure you, there is no need—”

Meredith shook her head wildly. “There is every need, for I know why you brought me here. You want me to lay with you!”

“So I do, lass, so I do. But let us speak plainly. Aye, I still want you—and aye, I will have you, just as I will have my son. You are mine, lass, and you will be mine in every way,” he promised bluntly, “but I will not take an unwilling maid to my bed—aye, even you!” he said on seeing her eyes widen. “But you
will
lay beside me in this bed, this night
and every other after this. Resign yourself to it, for I will not change my mind. Though I dislike it heartily, I will bide my time and wait until you are ready.”

Meredith’s mind churned frantically. Give herself willingly to him—to a man? That day would never come. “And who will decide when I am ready? You?” The word was fairly flung at him.

His eyes glinted. “Aye.”

Meredith was trapped as surely as an animal in a snare. She decried his arrogance, even as she decried her very helplessness. Wearily she despaired her stormy heart, for she knew not what she should do.

“For now, my heart’s only desire is to feel your kiss upon my lips—the kiss we agreed you would give in trade.”

Meredith gritted her teeth. How dare he mock her! “I did not agree,” she said flatly. “And my heart’s desire is to be rid of you!”

“Nor did you disagree,” he reminded her. “And so neither of us will sleep this night till I have what I am owed.”

Meredith was suddenly too angry to be precisely aware of just what she did. Marching over, she raised herself on tiptoe. Her lips tightly pinched together, she pressed her mouth against his for a fraction of a second. Drawing back, she prepared to savor her triumph, but he was shaking his head.

“That was most unsatisfactory. It will not do, lass, nay, not at all.”

His peremptory announcement but kindled the blaze within her. “What! You asked for a kiss and I gave it!”

“That was the kiss of a child. I would have the kiss of a woman.” His smile was utterly wicked. “Now, then, put your arms about my neck.”

Meredith’s lips tightened. Gritting her teeth, she rested the very tips of her fingers upon his shoulders.

He grimaced. “If you lean forward to kiss me, you will surely fall flat on your face,” he complained. “Step closer…place your feet between mine…there, that’s it, and for your effort, I shall meet you halfway…”

Sweet heaven, he did. His head descended, at the very moment hers lifted.

Their lips met…and clung.

A melting curl of heat unfurled in her belly. Her stomach quivered. Her fingers curled into the taut flesh of his shoulders. Confused by the response she couldn’t seem to control, she drew back.

He cocked a brow. “That was better. Now. Once more.”

A traitorous warmth unfurled within her, like the petals of a rosebud flowering beneath a noonday sun. A strange trembling seized her. It spread throughout her body, clear to her very limbs.

Cameron’s eyes opened, dark and heavy-lidded with some strange emotion. A jolt went through her, for only then did she discover a pair of lean male hands had settled around her waist. They were disturbingly warm, those hands. Disturbingly strong…and thoroughly unsettling. His nearness wreaked havoc with her senses. Oh, but she should never have complied, for what had she gotten herself into?

“Excellent,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on hers anew. His arms tightened, nearly lifting her from her feet. Her heart tumbled to a standstill. The pressure of his mouth deepened. He drew her lower lip into his mouth to suck gently on the tender flesh. Stunned by the force of the strange sensations pouring through her body, Meredith felt the world slip
away. She forgot where they were. God above, she forgot
who
they were—that he was Cameron of the Clan MacKay and she was but his prisoner.

She trembled, but not with fear. No, not with fear…but with something else. Something she did not recognize—something she was
afraid
to recognize. She could feel the scrape of his beard against her tender skin. Oddly, it was not unpleasant. An endless yearning seemed to well inside her—for what, she knew not. She felt as if she were melting inside, like tallow beneath the flame.

Had she known it was all Cameron could do not to crush her against him, to devour her mouth and let his hands wander where they would, she would surely have leaped from his arms. He felt like shouting his triumph, for whether she knew it or not, she had yielded. He’d been right not to press her, not to force her submission, for he knew full well if he had, she would not be here in his arms, the honeyed softness of her lips clinging sweetly to his.

Through a haze Meredith felt him slowly lift his head, felt the searing weight of his gaze on her face. A finger beneath her chin dictated she meet his eyes.

He gave her a long, slow look. “Now, that,” he said quietly, “was a trade worth making.”

Meredith flushed, only to realize her arms were still looped around his neck!

Quickly she withdrew them. Had he touted his triumph, her ire and resentment would have known no bounds. As it was, she was shaken and confused by what had happened. Cameron now stood beside the bed.

“This is yours, I believe, mistress.” A flutter of white whizzed through the air, straight toward her.
Meredith instinctively raised a hand and caught it—it was her bed gown.

“Wear it as you please”—a wicked half-smile curled his lips—“or do not wear it as you please. I admit, I much prefer the latter.” His gaze, thoroughly assessing, wandered over her. Meredith felt as if she’d been stripped bare with the mere touch of his eyes.

She glared at him, uncaring that he saw her mutinous indignation. “I concede that I must lay with you,” she snapped, “for as you persist in pointing out to me, you are stronger and I cannot overpower you. But by all that is holy, know this, sirrah! Beat me if you will—throw me in the pit prison!—but I will not lay naked beside you!”

“Be that as it may.” He shrugged. “I, however, have no such qualms.”

His speech thus delivered, he discarded his boots, then began to unwind his plaid from about his shoulders—and hips. Meredith gaped, for it was soon obvious he meant what he said—he would sleep naked!

She was too shocked to turn away, to squeeze her eyes shut—as she should have! What protest she might have made locked tight in her throat. Naked, he appeared bigger and broader than ever. His chest was brazenly male, matted with dense, dark fur. His arms were lean and corded with muscle. Shoulders that were broad and wide veered to the jutting ridge of his hips. For one mind-teetering instant, she tested the courage to venture below…and, oh, but surely she was the most sinful of sinners…she could not suppress the urge to look just once. She caught but a glimpse of jutting male virility before he started for the bed. One knee upraised, a pair of hard round buttocks filled her vision before she finally averted her head. She stood uncertainly, for time unending, it
seemed. Her mind raced. How she could ever look him in the face again and not think of…

“I must rise at dawn, Meredith. It would be appreciated were you to come to bed sometime before that.”

His voice intruded. The familiar mockery was back—and indeed, she felt much better equipped to deal with it. She regarded him mutely, her lips compressed into a thin line.

“No?” He raised a brow. “You intend to sleep on your feet, then? ’Tis a most uncomfortable way to sleep, I assure you. I know, for I’ve done it many a time tending sheep when I was young. Indeed, I once tumbled down a hillside.” There was a small pause. “I should imagine it will be cold and drafty standing there. The choice is yours, lass. The comfort and warmth of my bed, or the chill of the night.”