Susana and the Scot (15 page)

Because he'd made Susana Dounreay admit that she couldn't ask him to stop.

 

CHAPTER NINE

Susana stared at Andrew as she struggled to reclaim her breath. It seemed to have escaped her. Ripples of delight danced in her veins and her body felt heavy and liquid.

Ach, she hadn't felt such an amazing release since … well, since the last time he'd touched her. She wanted, ached for more.

Her hand, surely of its own accord, slipped down and caressed his cock. He was hard. Huge. A shudder racked her. She wanted him. She wanted him in her. She swallowed heavily and licked her lips. And squeezed.

To her dismay, though his nostrils flared, he stepped back, dropping her skirts.

His expression made his intention clear. Though he wanted her—and his need was patently clear—he would not take her.

“Not here,” he murmured. His voice rumbled on the air.

Confusion whipped through her; tangled with it was an errant ribbon of frustration … and pain.

Why? Why would he not take what she so blatantly offered? She yearned to know, but she didn't know how to ask.

She frowned as she brushed out her skirts and bent to pick up her bow. She hadn't even been aware of dropping it. That in itself should have been warning enough. She avoided his gaze as she arranged the quiver over her shoulder.

At his chuckle, her head snapped up and she glared at him.

“Arming yourself again, Susana?” Surely his smile was a smirk. And why not? He'd gotten what he wanted. He'd gotten her to admit she desired him. But if it was his intention to make her beg for it, he would be sorely disappointed.

“One should always be prepared to defend one's honor.”

He missed the barb, or pretended to. Then again, he had no honor. “May I escort you back to the castle?”

She glanced back at the tree, where they had almost … Where she had almost succumbed. A ripple of regret nudged her. She forced it away and tossed her head. “Perhaps I shall escort you.”

“As you wish.”

She started down the path, at a healthy clip. He paced her. They had emerged from the woods and passed through the lea and entered the stable yard before he spoke. “Why did you follow me to the loch?” he asked.

Her heart fluttered. She gaped at him. “Follow you? I dinna follow you.”

His expression made it clear he considered this a bold-faced lie.

She hated that he could see through her so easily.

“Were you hoping for another kiss? For what we shared? Maybe more?”

“You are an arrogant ass.”

“Why are you angry?”

She walked faster.

“Is it because you wanted more? Are you disappointed?” He took her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Are you? Disappointed?”

She was furious. That was what she was. She glared at him.

His jaw clenched, ticked. “Do you think I dinna want you back there? Do you think I dinna ache with need?”

“If you were so desperate, you should have taken what was offered.”

“Perhaps I shall.”

“It willna be offered again.”

His eyes glinted. “Oh, I think it will. You canna deny what's between us, Susana. You canna deny how splendid it is.”

“Then why did you stop?” God, she hated herself for asking.

“Do you not know?”

“Nae,” she spat.

He leaned closer, so close the caress of his breath teased her cheek. “I doona want our first time together to be rushed. I doona want to take you against a tree. And I doona want our first time to be our last. And mostly, I want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you want me. As wildly, as hungrily, as passionately as I want you. Do you understand, Susana? Do you?”

He did not wait for her to respond; he spun on his heel and stormed toward the kennels, leaving Susana staring after him.

He'd been so passionate, so sincere, so … anguished. She almost believed him.

She would be a fool to believe him.

Most likely, he was toying with her. Most likely, he planned to take what he wanted and then walk away.

What he didn't realize was that she planned to do the same.

*   *   *

It was probably cowardly of her to order breakfast in her room when she returned to the castle, but Susana couldn't take the chance that Andrew might show up in the morning room. She didn't think she could face him across the table.

Not yet.

Blast, but the man befuddled her. One moment she was railing against him, furious and wounded and enraged, and the next she was a puddle of weakness and want. She needed to strengthen her spine, rediscover her balance before she faced him again.

She needed to figure out what to do with him.

On the one hand, she wanted him beyond bearing. On the other hand, he frightened her to death. He held far too much sway over her emotions. And did he but know it, over other things as well.

It delighted her when Isobel opened her door and peeped in without so much as a knock. Normally she would frown and scold her daughter, reminding her of the importance of manners, but this morning she could not. She was far too needful of the distraction of her daughter's cheerful chatter.

“Good morning, darling,” she said, waving her in. Isobel grinned at her and kissed her cheek, then surveyed the tray Cook had sent up, licking her lips. Susana chuckled. “Help yourself.”

“Och, I'm starved,” Isobel said, taking a cake without the bother of a plate.

Though she tried not to, Susana couldn't help but frown. She handed her daughter a plate, which, with a gusted sigh, Isobel proceeded to fill.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Aye.” Isobel said, although her attention was on her food. She took the seat across from Susana and tucked in. “Where were you this morning?”

Susana's nerves sizzled. “This morning?”

“I came by earlier and you werna here.”

“Ah. I went for a walk.”

“Before the sun came up?”

“I do like the dawn.” And from her window, she'd seen a certain Viking-like man striding toward the loch.

“Hmm.” Isobel took another too-large bite of her cake. It crumbled onto her lap. “Did you walk with
him
?”

Susana stilled. “Him?”

Isobel eyed her with a cynicism far beyond her years. “The knight. I saw the two of you in the courtyard.”

“Did you?” Susana swallowed.

“Were you fighting?”

Oh, dear. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

“Every time I see you talking to him, you're frowning.”

“I wasna frowning.”

“You were. Like this.” She made a horrendous face.

“I doona frown like that.”

“Aye. You do.” Isobel licked a finger. “So, do you no' like him?”

“Like him?” How did one explain the feelings she had for him? She had no clue, but
like
was not one of the words that came to mind.

“Do you?”

“Of course I … like him.” She took a sip of tea to wash down the lie.

Isobel stabbed a sausage with a fork. “Well, I like him.”

“You … do?” Her pulse fluttered.

“I told you he was a knight. He rescued me yesterday.”

Susana's heart clenched. “He what?”

“Rescued me.”

“From … what?”

“I was on the roof…”

“Isobel Mairi MacBean! I told you not to go on the roof!” How many times had she told her daughter the mill was far too high for her to climb?

“I know.” She swung her feet nonchalantly. “But I wanted to hunt birds. And the view is much better up there.”

Her pulse slowed. Up
there
? “Up where?”

“On the turret tower.”

Susana gaped. She was capable of nothing more. Her daughter. On the turret tower …

Holy God.

Oh, holy God.

“I was climbing and I slipped…” The vision played out in her head. A cold hand clutched at her chest. Prickles of sweat erupted on her brow. “But he caught me. He's verra strong.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“And verra brave. He climbed up and waited there and when I fell—”

“Mother Mary.”

“He caught me.”

Susana swallowed. Gulped a breath. Forced a calm, unpanicked tone. “Darling. That sounds … verra dangerous.”

“That's what he said.”

“Did he?”

Isobel wrinkled her nose. “He also said I should listen to you when you tell me no.”

“Thank God for that.”

“I thought you would like that part.” She grinned. Her smile was so like his, it made Susana's heart ping.

“You should never ever do that again. Never. Ever.” Dear God. Her mind spun.

Her daughter put out a lip. “I already decided I probably wouldna.”

Thank heaven for small favors.

And then, “Probably?”

She shrugged. “You never know. The view is verra fine up there.”

“Isobel…”

“Yes, Mama?”

Oh, what to say? What to say to a child who didn't like to be told no, one who was incited to rebellion by restrictions?

She covered her daughter's hand with her own. “If anything ever happened to you … I couldna … I wouldna…”

“Mama? Why are you crying?”

“I'm not crying.”

“Your cheeks are wet.”

“I'm not crying. It's just that you've frightened me verra much.”

“Nothing happened.”

“You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn't.” Isobel grinned. “He saved me.”

Aye. He had. As much as he annoyed the hell out of her, she couldn't deny that in this, she was very glad he'd been here. That he'd been there. That he'd saved her daughter.

And damn it, that annoyed her, too.

Isobel shot her a superior look. “I told you he was a knight.”

This time, Susana did not disagree.

*   *   *

Isobel sat on the garden bench petting her bunny, though it tried very hard not to be petted. In fact, from its struggles, it seemed to want to get away. She tightened her hold and petted harder.

She glanced up as a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The man named Andrew with the silver-blond hair—the man who had vowed not to pat her on the head and tell her to run and play—strolled along the path, though he wasn't looking where he was going. He seemed very pensive indeed.

When he spotted her, his jaw tightened and it seemed as though he was going to turn and stroll in another direction, but he didn't. After a moment's reflection, he continued toward her and took a seat at her side.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.”

He peered at the furry bundle nestled in her skirts. “What do you have there?” he asked, although he must have seen one before.

“A bunny.”

“A bunny?”

She nodded. “I was going to kill it and then…”

“And then what?”

She huffed a sigh. “And then it looked at me.”

“It looked at you?”

“And wiggled its nose.” She petted its fur. It was soft and smooth. And the bunny hardly quivered at all. “I just couldna do it.”

“I understand.”

“I couldna help thinking, maybe it's a mama. Maybe it has babies.”

“I'm sure the bunny appreciates your mercy.”

“And the babies.”

“Aye. Them, too.”

Isobel's glare was sharp. “Just doona tell my mama. She doesna like weakness.”

He huffed a laugh. “Nae. Mercy is not one of her fortes.” He was quiet for a moment. A butterfly flittered by. A bee landed on a flower nearby and explored it. “Though I have to say, Isobel, mercy is not a weakness.”

She nodded and petted the quivering bunny again. Then she opened her arms and released it back into the wilds of the garden. It scooted away with the flash of a white tail. She sighed again. “Grandpapa would have liked rabbit stew.”

Andrew rubbed her back in a soothing manner that was very pleasant. “I'm sure he'll be happy with mutton.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Do you think so?”

He made a face and she laughed. “Nae. No one is really happy with mutton.”

They stared out at the garden for a while before she spoke again. Asked him the question that had been nagging at her. “So … did you do it?”

His brow wrinkled. It occurred to her he really was a fine-looking man. And he was strong. And he had a sword. He was probably a much better choice as a father than the other one. “Did I do what?”

“Did you seduce my mama yet?”

His face went a little green. His lips worked but he couldn't seem to come up with an answer. She didn't understand his consternation. Either he had or he hadn't.

“A simple yes or no will do.”

“Ah, no.”

She grunted, wholly unimpressed with him, and wished she hadn't let the bunny go just yet. “Do you think you will?”

“I have to say, Isobel, this conversation makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“It's rather a private matter.”

“But you promised to answer all my questions.”

“I did. But can you understand that sometimes there are things a person doesna want to share?”

She thought about the turret tower and the beehives and the tiny little fire she might have set in the mill. No one knew about
that
, thank heaven. She certainly didn't want to share it. “Aye. I understand.” She tried not to put out a lip. He seemed sincere. He didn't seem to be trying to fob her off. She liked that. And though he hadn't precisely answered her question, he had tried. Aye, she might like him as a father, indeed. If she could convince Mama. “Do you think she's pretty?” she asked.

He blinked. Again, his lips worked. But this time he answered. “I do. Verra much.”

“Are you fond of her?”