Ian woke the next morning with a headache.
Unlike many mornings when he woke at Alistair’s with a headache, this was not from too much drink. He’d taken only a few sips of wine at dinner—albeit a few more like gulps—and realized that if he had any more, he was liable to end up in Rhiannon’s bedroom, having thrown caution to the wind. At that point, he’d stopped imbibing completely.
And he was glad for it because as she’d stood to leave, every inch of him had commanded he go with her. Wherever the willpower had come from that bid him remain behind, he was glad for it, as he almost hadn’t been able to summon it.
Nay, the headache he awoke with this morning was from frowning so damn much. Saints, but that was not the type of man he was. And his brother called him out for being broody because of the three triplets, Ian was usually the most jovial of them all.
Alas, being jovial, while typically second nature for him, was impeded when he was concentrating so hard on not being interested in the woman that he was extremely interested in.
Bloody hell… Rhiannon had well and thoroughly gotten under his skin. Both good and bad.
A splash of cold water on his face helped, as did the tisane he begged Cook for, who thought his condition was from too many spirits. Fine by him, as long as he got rid of the infernal pounding behind his eyes before Rhiannon joined him at the table for breakfast.
Their meal was a simple fare of berry porridge drizzled with honey and a dollop of butter, but one of Ian’s favorites. There was even a trencher of bacon, which he took a healthy portion of. By the time he’d had his fourth slice, he was feeling marginally better, the pounding gone and replaced by a dull ache somewhere on the back of his skull.
And then Rhiannon appeared as he refilled his trencher. Dressed in another borrowed gown that showed the curves of her hips, the fabric bringing out the sky blue of her eyes, and her red-gold hair shined. Ian would have liked not to notice such things, but alas, it was impossible not to notice.
She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
When he thought of a painted portrait hanging over his hearth—she was what he’d like to see, the way she was now, entering a room, fresh-faced with a slight curl to her lips and a teasing sparkle in her eyes.
He stood, as did every other man at the table, watching as she approached. The dainty swish of her hips, her skirts flowing about her long legs. As she took her seat, Rhiannon stared at him. His throat was tight, too tight.
“Good morrow, my laird,” she said, and he felt like a cad for not having addressed her first.
A beat later, he seemed to be able to work his throat again. “My lady, I trust ye slept well?”
“Aye. So much better than a tent.” One of the servants placed her bowl of porridge in front of her, and the delighted smile on Rhiannon’s face was contagious.
It also appeared to be the cure he’d been looking for with his headache, for the pain receded to near-nothingness.
“’Tis indeed. Bacon?” he asked, prepared to serve her as was polite.
“None for me, thank you. This porridge looks delightful.” She popped one of the berries in her mouth.
Ian ate without tasting as she dipped her spoon and brought it to her lips, clearly enjoying the buttered and honeyed porridge.
“Ah, Ian, ye look better than last night,” Alistair said, marching into the great hall. He clapped Ian on the back hard enough that Ian almost choked.
His brother brought with him the scent of the fresh outdoors, likely the rounds he’d done that morning before breaking his fast. Alistair was a hands-on laird, like their brother Noah.
It was the way they’d been raised, to take care of their own. To be involved. A leader couldn’t always take the word of their seconds and other assistants as the way of it. One had to see with one’s own eyes.
Even as he thought that, he grimaced, realizing that was what he’d been doing all these years. Aye, when he was at his holding, he was hands-on, involved in everything, but the rest of the time? He took their word for it.
The whole place could have burned down, and his people sailed for France, and he’d never know because he believed the letters that were sent to him. Letters he would have to read when he got to his brother Noah’s castle—which was where they waited for him. From Noah’s shores, if one looked out on a clear morning, the shores of Orkney could be seen.
And since, more often than not, Ian ended up at Noah’s castle, that was where his people sent him updates. Probably hoping one day he’d hop on a ship and return more permanently.
Alistair settled at the table, grabbing a handful of bacon. After chewing a fair amount, he said, “The English were spotted on the road south of here. About two dozen of them.”
“Bloody hell,” Ian grumbled. Rhiannon had been right. Her brother must have intercepted the letters and knew her exact route. The man might be a gambling arse, but he could plan and read a map. “Headed north for certain?” He hoped that perhaps it was just another regiment of Longshanks’s men.
“Aye. My scouts came to let me know they were headed north, and the crest on their shields was three scallop shells.”
“That is our family crest,” Rhiannon said softly. “It is Adam.”
Ian bristled, clenching his fists. “Want me to take men out and head them off at the pass?”
Alistair chuckled. “Ye canna have all the fun. My men and I will leave shortly to see where they are headed. Likely no’ here.” Alistair glanced at Rhiannon. “Would your brother know about Dunbais by chance?”
Rhiannon shook her head. “I didn’t know about it, so I doubt he’ll have figured out there is a connection. My guess is that he’s on his way to Buanaiche, which he does know about.”
“See,” Alistair said to Ian, “Ye can be on your way without fear that they are headed here.”
Ian wanted to argue. A good fight was always a cure for what ailed him, and right now, thoughts of Rhiannon and his future ailed him plenty.
“I’ve already taken the liberty of having cook prepare ye provisions, and our stable master is preparing your horses. Do ye want to take some men with ye?”
Ian shook his head. “Nay. ’Tis easier to pass unnoticed with the two of us. We’ll be at Buanaiche in a few days. There’s no way Adam and his army will beat us there. They dinna know the mountains as I do.”
Alistair glanced at Rhiannon and wiggled his brows. “I was also informed that Goosie has taken charge of the stables and slain many a mouse who wished to steal the horses’ oats. Any chance ye’ll part with her?”
Rhiannon smiled like a proud mother. “Unfortunately, nay, my laird. But if I ever find myself this way again, I will endeavor to allow her to serve your horses once more.”
Alistair grinned. “I hope we do see ye again, my lady. It has been a pleasure.”
An unsettling feeling lodged in Ian’s chest. Almost like…envy, not an emotion he was familiar with, but it was instantly recognizable.
Was Alistair flirting with Rhiannon? He glanced at them. There was an easy comfort between the two of them when conversing. Perhaps more than a slight pang of jealousy flowed through him. Ian frowned, feeling the pinch of pain in his head wiggle in warning, and forced his frown away.
“I would love that,” she said sweetly. “You and your people have been so kind to me.”
“We would not dream of anything else, my lady. Now, if ye’ll excuse me,” Alistair stood, grabbing another handful of bacon, “we’ve some English to fight off. Brother, I’ll be seeing ye.” Alistair grinned as they had when they were children, and he got to play a game while Ian had to remain behind to finish whatever bit of schooling he’d been resistant to.
Ian came around the table and embraced his brother. “Thank ye,” he said genuinely. “For everything.”
Alistair grabbed him in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles on Ian’s head. “Always, brother.”
Once they had finished their breakfast, Ian and Rhiannon headed to the stables where their horses were waiting, saddled. George pawed the earth, ready for the wind in his mane, his master on his back.
They rode over the familiar lands, following a path Ian could travel with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back. Along the route, he chose places he was familiar with to relieve themselves, rest, and water the horses, including a stop at his usual clearing for a noonday meal of cold chicken. They were mostly quiet, each deep in their thoughts as the journey drew closer to the end. And when the sun fell to the horizon, he determined, after what had happened to them previously on the road, it would be in their best interest not to sojourn at the usual tavern he liked to hole up in. Better to stay out of sight so no one else could be bribed into giving them up, the cost being their lives.
Instead, he found a dilapidated croft he was also acquainted with. While it was missing half its roof, the other half provided decent shelter, and he could start a fire to keep them warm, at least through the night. Though the smoke would be visible, anyone coming across them and seeing the walls might think twice. Maybe.
Inside, the makeshift cot he’d left behind was still there, propped against the wall. The place looked as untouched as he’d left it on the way to England. “Ye can take the cot,” he said, lowering it to the ground and shaking out the straw-filled mattress. “I’ll take a watch and sleep on the floor.”
Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure? I could take a watch while you sleep on the cot.”
“Ye’ll take a watch?” He tried unsuccessfully to keep himself from laughing.
“I admit to never having done it before,” she said with a dainty shrug, “but how hard can it be?” At that, she approached one of the windows and peered out. “All clear.”
Ian grinned. “There’s a little more to it than that. How about we practice first?”
Rhiannon smiled back and lifted on her tiptoes in excitement. “Excellent idea.”
They gathered wood and prepared a fire, their camp inside the croft cozier than their makeshift outdoor sites had been. After they ate the dinner that the cook had packaged up—bread and bacon (none for Rhiannon as she declined) and cheese—Ian led Rhiannon to the broken half door of the croft.
“Part of taking watch is watching. Hence the name. And the part ye got right a bit ago.”
“Oh, how odd. I would never have guessed it was called a watch because you watched.” She rolled her eyes.
Ian chuckled and nudged her with his shoulder. “Your sarcasm doesna go unnoticed.”
She smirked.
“Watch for anything shifting or changing,” he said. “That is, sight and sounds.”
Rhiannon nodded, and he watched as she scanned the darkening areas around the croft. “So, it’s really a watch and listen.”
“Aye. When it’s just moonlight or no moonlight at all, your eyes will adjust to the shadows. You’ll be able to pick up on if something moves and changes or a new shadow emerges, but at first, all the shadows and murky blobs will look as though they are moving, closing in on ye.”
Rhiannon nodded. “I can see that. The tree there has shifted to the left and the right now.”
Ian snorted. “Aye. Get used to the sounds. Ye’ll be able to identify the difference between the scurry of a wood rat and the crunch of boots. Or the silent and pausing steps of a deer versus the steadier steps of a horse. Or the rustling of Goosie in the gorse bushes.”
“Is that why you put our horses in the croft? So, we wouldn’t mistake the noise of an enemy for the noise of our horses?”
“Aye and nay. They are inside to keep them close, so they aren’t stolen, but also so we know their sounds.”
“There’s quite a lot to learn about taking watch,” she said.
“Aye. But with practice, ye’ll be an expert.”
“Do you think that Douglass’s husband will allow me to take watch on the wall?” The way she said it, so serious of tone, belied the laughter in her gaze.
Ian laughed softly at that. “Ye can try, but I doubt it.”
“Worth a shot.” She winked, and his insides melted.
“I hear he does whatever Douglass asks, so ye may only need to have her put in a good word for ye.”
She sighed. “It sounds as if he adores her.”
“That he does. He is utterly besotted. And she with him. Seeing the two of them together has been quite a pleasure.” And he meant it. Noah’s happiness seemed to know no bounds, making Ian extremely happy for his brother.
Rhiannon nodded. “I’m looking forward to seeing it for myself.” There was something almost sad in her tone that touched Ian.
He wanted to comfort her, to ask what she was thinking if she were willing to share, but he was also scared to hear what her answer might be because he had an idea that what she wanted was someone to love for herself, and while he wanted to be that man, he didn’t know if he could be.
* * *
Rhiannon concentrated on the shadows, a feat that was proving very hard when standing next to Ian. Every time she was around him, it was as if her body took over. All of her senses heightened. She slowed her breath, trying to quell the over-beating of her heart. She attempted to ignore his breathing or how his warmth sank into her skin.
But it didn’t help. Being in his presence made her heart thump harder against her ribs, and her breaths came a little faster. Peering at him from the side of her eyes, she hoped he didn’t notice her reactions. Even her hands were clammy, her fingers curling in, pressing her nails to her palms to ground herself. She rubbed them against her skirts and squinted into the darkness.
Focus.
“Well.” Ian cleared his throat, something she’d noticed he seemed to do only around her. “If ye’re going to take the second watch, ye should probably take first sleep.”
Rhiannon drew a long breath, letting it out her nose, and then turned to face him. But that had been a mistake. Because he turned simultaneously, and their bodies were practically flush. Any ideas she might have had about maintaining propriety or distance or trying to ignore the way her insides quaked were instantly gone as if they never existed. “I’m not tired yet,” she whispered.
Ian’s eyes widened a fraction, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “Nay?” He sounded choked as if it were an effort to push out the single syllable.
She shook her head and took a step closer, the tips of her boots touching his. Soon, they were going to be a Douglass’s castle, and she’d be pampered and hovered over by her cousin and likely not have a chance to be alone with Ian again. And she’d spent hours, days even, contemplating what she wanted out of life. The only conclusion she’d been able to reach was this: she was fairly certain she was falling for Ian Sinclair.
If he caught wind of her sentiments or even returned them a fraction, there was a good chance that when they reached the holding, he would leave her there and disappear, escaping as she felt him itching to do in the moments that she caught him staring.
The idea of him walking out of those castle doors and her never seeing him again made her chest ache. It was true they hadn’t known each other long, but in the short time they’d been acquainted, they’d experienced more than some people ever did in a lifetime. There was a mutual understanding between them of each other’s needs in life. A respect for one another’s talents.
She’d never risked her life for anyone—but she’d done it more than once now for him. The truth was Rhiannon cared deeply for the man. Dare she even say this was love? He made her feel good, more than good.
She reached out, her fingers gently brushing his but not taking hold. A silent question. She’d never been this bold before. She peered at him through the fringe of her lashes, not to be coy, but because she wasn’t certain she could face rejection if it were written on his face.
“Ian, I…” she started but stopped, biting her lip.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath but didn’t push her away. His fingers threaded around hers. Calloused palms flatted to hers. Their intertwined fingers fit perfectly together. He touched her chin, tilting her face so she could no longer stare at him through her lashes but meet his gaze head-on.
“Make no mistake, lass,” he murmured. “I want to kiss ye. I just dinna think I should.”
Rhiannon wished she could wipe away his resistance. Of course, he was being a gentleman, and it was commendable. “You do not need to be a gentleman. We don’t know what’s going to happen. If we’ll make it to the castle or not,” she said. “And if we don’t, I’ll forever regret not taking advantage of this moment, of my…desire for you.”
“And if I took the gift ye offered, ye may regret giving it to me in the morning.” But even as he said it, he tugged her closer, where her hand was clasped with his, and he pressed it to his chest.
“I can assure you, I’d have no regrets. The only one I’d have is not taking this opportunity to have something I want. All my life, my uncle prepared me to defend myself and stand up for myself and what I wanted. And in one small moment of weakness, my brother took everything away. Imprisoned me. Decided my fate.” She pressed her palm over his heart. “Before you came, I was already planning to leave. I’d sent my cousin those three letters, but I’d also packed a bag. The morning you found me, I was scouting the perimeter to see where my brother’s men were, how far they would let me walk because, make no mistake, I was going to take my fate into my own hands.”
Because he knew her so well, Ian didn’t look surprised. He nodded as if he’d expected it. “I’m glad I was there. No telling what could have happened on the road to Scotland alone.”
She smiled. “’Tis true. I was willing to risk my life and safety to escape, and you have certainly made the journey safer and faster. But please do not confuse my desire for you as some sort of…I don’t know, some sort of payment.”
“Och, lass, that is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Then…what is holding you back?” Rhiannon shocked herself at how bold she was being. How easily the questions came off her tongue. But it was only proof of how he made her feel. Alive and safe. She trusted him with her emotions and her body.
With Ian, she didn’t mind being herself and sharing her thoughts. She didn’t feel that he would censure her or judge her. He was invested in what she had to say.
“I thought I wanted to be an adventurer,” he said.
Beneath her palm, she felt his heart beat a little faster.
“You are an adventurer, Ian. Look where we are.” She glanced around the croft with its roof caved in on one side. “If this isn’t an adventure, I don’t know what is.”
“For life.”
The words were heavy with meaning, and Rhiannon tried to swallow her disappointment. She should back away now. Forget all of this and him. But she couldn’t. Not yet. “I do not think kissing me takes away your sense of adventure.” She smiled up at him, not a teasing or a shy one, but a smile that said she’d respect whatever decision he made. “If anything…you are tempting fate. Let’s call it for what it is.”
“I am.” He slid his finger along her jaw, his gaze on her mouth. “Ever since I met ye, my ideas of what I wanted out of life, who I wanted to be…have been questioned.”
“Not by me.”
“Nay, by myself.” He curled a tendril of her hair around his finger. “Change is no’ always easy for me.”
“For anyone.”
“And yet, I find myself desiring change.”
“Like what?” She stepped a little closer, her knees brushing his.
“Like maybe I dinna need to be wandering around Scotland searching, when what I want, what I have, is right in front of me, and right across the sea.”
Rhiannon swallowed. She was right in front of him. His holding was across the sea. Did that mean he wanted her too? That he would take her back to his holding and…they would… Or was it simply that he had what he wanted in his holding, and that was what was right before him? Perhaps his words had nothing to do with her. And she hated that her mind was starting to question whether or not she’d made a mistake in broaching the topic.
“I canna claim ye, lass. No’ until we’ve reached the castle and ye’ve had a chance to see your cousin.”
He stopped abruptly, and she wondered if what he might have said was not until she came to her senses.
But all she heard over and over again in her mind was: claim her, claim her, claim her.
“You can kiss me without claiming me.”
“I dinna know that I can.” His gaze settled on her mouth, and she wondered if he was thinking about kissing her right then and there. She hoped he was. “And yet, I feel as if I already did. That by kissing ye, touching ye, I have already taken something that wasn’t meant for me.”
“You did not take anything, it was freely given.” Rhiannon wanted to lean up on her tiptoes, to kiss him again and show him that it was her choice, that he wasn’t some marauder of maidens or whatever such nonsense might be going through his head. “And I assure you, I am asking and willing to give.”
Ian groaned, his forehead resting on hers, their breaths mingling, and still he held back. Rhiannon wanted to rush forward, to make this kiss happen, but the internal struggle he was wrestling with wasn’t one she wanted to push him through. He was resisting her for his moral reasons, and if she were to shove those aside, to force him to do something he wasn’t sure he should, then it would be her disrespecting his wishes.
And so, she stood there, holding him as he held her, his hand laid over hers at his chest where she could feel the erratic beat of his heart, and waited.
Gooseflesh prickled her skin. She bit the inside of her cheek. She tried to quell the pounding of her heart, but it seemed the more they stood there, the more they didn’t move, the anticipation of what might or might not happen next grew tenfold, a thousandfold until she couldn’t breathe properly.
When enough heartbeats had passed that she was certain he’d changed his mind and would step away and tell her they had to wait, Ian pressed his warm mouth desperately to hers. Claiming her in the press of his lips on hers.
The battle inside him must have been lost. But somehow, for her, it felt very much like winning.