Through a haze of pain Jamie watched as the warriors lowered their swords. For a moment the room seemed to spin, and he had to struggle to maintain his rigid stance. Despite the bone weariness that enveloped him and the loss of blood from his newly inflicted wounds, it would not do to show any sign of weakness.
“I am told that the Gordons are the most respected swordsmen in all of Scotland.”
“You have heard correctly,” Murray said. “Have you come to challenge us?” His lips curled into a sneer. “Or do you only do your fighting with helpless women?”
“Helpless?” Lindsey turned blazing eyes on her brother. “I’ll have you know it was my clever acting that bought you enough time to draw your swords. Else this villain would have caught you all unawares.”
Acting. So the lass had been pretending to be weak and afraid while she was calmly searching for a way to save her family. Jamie felt a grudging respect for the woman who had so ably tricked him.
“Now he is a villain,” Neal called. “A moment ago you begged Father to spare his miserable life so we could hear what he had to say.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken.” Lindsey tore her glance from the sight of the wounded giant who oddly tugged at her heart. His blood-soaked clothes and ravaged face touched a chord deep inside her. “Perhaps I should have let him die.”
“Silence, all of you,” the old man shouted. Turning to Jamie he commanded, “Say what you came here to say. And then I will decide whether or not you deserve to live.”
“I have need of a few brave men.” Jamie spoke slowly, allowing his gaze to assess the circle of men. The youngest one revealed a trace of fear in his eyes. The one beside him, a handsome rebel, gave a cynical smile. The golden-haired lad seemed puzzled. The bearded son could hardly contain his fury. Jamie allowed his gaze to linger on the lass. What fire there was in her. But her curiosity overcame anything else she might be feeling. Despite her earlier misgivings, she pursed her lips and waited for him to continue. Jamie tore his gaze from her and turned toward her father. Only the old man watched without any show of emotion.
“And why would a famed warrior like Jamie MacDonald have need of our swords?”
“I have need of not only your swords—” Jamie gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself to speak slowly, evenly “—but of your ability to lead others, as well.”
“And where would we be leading others?” Murray shot him a challenging look.
“To rally behind their queen.”
The old man took a menacing step closer. “What news do you bring us regarding our beloved queen?”
“I have reason to believe Mary’s life is in danger.” His words brought a sudden chilling silence. It was Douglas Gordon who finally spoke.
“You will tell us all you know.”
“Aye. The queen’s secretary, Riccio, has been murdered at Holyrood.”
The room erupted with muffled exclamations.
“Brice Campbell lies gravely wounded after subduing the swordsman. He believes the true intent of the attack was to murder the queen.”
“God in heaven.” Upon hearing this, Douglas Gordon’s look turned grim. “The rumors are true, then.” He glanced at his sons and daughter.
Jamie pressed his fingers to the searing heat at his shoulder and was surprised when his hand came away covered with blood. He stared at it a moment without comprehending. The front of his tunic was smeared with blood, as were his breeches, yet he could feel nothing but the heat and a strange numbness.
His dazed expression was not lost on the old man, who had seen such shock on many a warrior in battle. His tone softened. “How long have you been without sleep, lad?”
Jamie felt the room sway a moment, then forced himself to stiffen his spine. “I have been in the saddle two nights and three days.” Or was it three nights and two days? He could no longer recall.
“You will rest a while, and then we will speak more of this.”
“There is no time for rest. I must put together an army and lead them to their queen.”
“Aye. The need is most urgent. But now,” the old man said with a trace of a smile in his tone, “you are bleeding all over my floor, lad. And my daughter, Lindsey, will have my head if I allow this abomination to continue.” He sheathed his sword and motioned for his sons to do the same. To his daughter he said, “Show our guest to a sleeping chamber, Lindsey.”
“But...”
“Immediately,” the old man bellowed. “And summon a servant to see to his needs.”
“Aye, Father.”
Lindsey watched as Jamie bent and retrieved his weapons. She saw him lean against the wall for a moment, then straighten.
She would not feel any remorse for this villain’s suffering. Had he not, after all, used her shamelessly to gain entry to their fortress? He must have been aware of the risks of invading the home of the Gordons.
Lifting her skirts, she led the way up a wide staircase. Behind her Jamie staggered, swayed, then forced himself to follow at a slower pace.
He had planned to do something bold and outrageous to gain the attention of the Gordons. But it had not been his intention to attack the beloved daughter of the leader. The wild lass’s name was Lindsey. It gave him an odd sense of pleasure to have that information, despite the buzzing in his brain that disrupted his concentration.
Outside the doorway to a suite of rooms the lass paused and turned to study the giant who walked behind her. Though his eyes showed the effects of the wound, she had no doubt that he could still outfight every man below stairs. There was such strength in him. And a sense of nobility that oddly stirred her.
She stepped inside. Jamie followed.
Several servants scurried around the rooms, preparing the bed, stoking the fire.
“You will rest in here,” she said, leading the way toward the sleeping chamber.
“You are most kind.” She heard the thread of sarcasm in his tone and fought to ignore it.
“If you will lie down, I will see to your wound.”
At a word from Lindsey, a serving girl turned back the bed linens. As he made his way to the bed Jamie prayed he would not disgrace himself by falling. He eased himself toward the pallet and felt his knees buckle. He fell forward and managed to roll over until he was lying on his back.
Jamie noted that a pitcher of water stood on the table beside his bed. His throat was parched, and he recalled idly that he had not eaten in days.
Seeing the direction of his gaze she asked, “Do you thirst?”
“Aye.”
Through half-closed lids he watched as Lindsey filled a goblet. Sitting on the edge of the pallet she lifted his head to her lap and offered him the liquid. He drank greedily.
When the goblet was empty, Lindsey lowered his head and placed the goblet on the table. Working with efficiency she removed his bloody tunic and shirt.
The wound to his shoulder was deep and already beginning to fester.
“You have lost a fair amount of blood.”
Jamie struggled to stay awake. The cozy bed linens, the warmth of the fire and the softness of this woman’s touch were almost more than he could fight. Were this a dozen Highlanders surrounding him in the frozen forest, he could have called upon that well of strength within himself. But this... this was the nearest thing to heaven he had encountered in his many years upon this earth. He was drowning in comfort. And he had not the strength to fight it.
He needed to cross swords with this female. That would keep him alert.
“Your father’s mark is not true. A better swordsman would have left me dead with his first thrust.”
That hit a nerve. Lindsey’s temper flared, “Father is still a fine swordsman. ’Tis true, his eyesight is failing somewhat. But had I not stopped him, his second thrust would have found your heart. And,” she added in haughty tones, “you did not even lift a sword in your own defense.”
“I came not to fight but to persuade.”
At that she said nothing. Dipping a piece of cloth into a basin, she wrung it out and began mopping up the blood that stained his chest and arm. Her touch was deliberately rough, and it brought a smile of satisfaction to her lips when she saw her patient flinch.
“Are you trying to finish the work your father started?”
“Mayhap.” She continued to sponge the blood, unaware that her touch had gentled. How muscled his arms. How flat the planes of his stomach. How narrow his waist. His waist... She saw the glint of a dirk tucked into his waistband and reminded herself that this was the man who had attacked her and whose chilling words had made her blood run cold.
“This will sting,” she said, pouring a liberal amount of spirits over the open wound. “Such a waste of fine whiskey.”
His sudden hiss of pain brought a smile of satisfaction to her lips. “Did I not warn you of the pain, my lord?”
“Aye.”
She felt his quick intake of breath as she poured even more liquid on the wound.
“Enjoying yourself, my lady?”
“Aye. It has always given me satisfaction to minister to the injured.”
“Have many of them lived?”
“A few.” With quick practiced movements she began to wind clean linen strips around his shoulder and chest. As she bent to him her hair swirled forward, tickling the flesh of his naked chest.
Jamie inhaled the soft woman fragrance of her and found himself swamped with feelings that had nothing to do with battle. How easy it would be to pull her close and bury his lips in her throat. Even in his weakened condition, she would be no match for his strength. He struggled to dismiss such dangerous thoughts. He had come here to seek her clan’s support. The last thing he needed was to incur their wrath by soiling their woman. Besides, she was not nearly the kind of woman who appealed to him. There was nothing soft or sweet about her. So far she had shown him only an acid tongue and an ungentle touch.
When Lindsey had completed dressing his wounds, she lay him back against the bed linens. A servant hovered nearby, awaiting her mistress’s orders.
“Fetch our guest some broth,” Lindsey called.
“Aye, my lady.” The servant hurried from the room.
Jamie lay quietly, his eyes closed, listening to the occasional hiss and snap of the fire. It seemed to him, in his pain-clouded mind, that the fire had spread to his body and had centered on his shoulder and chest. What had this damnable female done to him? She had taken hot coals and heaped them upon his body. And in his weakened condition he had been unable to stop her.
He moaned softly. Alarmed, Lindsey perched on the edge of the bed and touched a hand to his forehead. He burned with fever. Wringing out a cloth, she began to sponge his forehead. Within a few moments he became still.
Setting the damp cloth aside, she walked to the foot of the bed and struggled until his boots had been removed. Standing over him, she studied his soaked breeches. They would have to come off, as well. Bending over him she reached a hand to the hilt of the knife tucked into his waistband. Strong, work-worn fingers instantly closed over her own. She was stunned to find herself lifted off her feet and hauled roughly against a wall of muscled chest. For a moment her breath was knocked from her lungs, leaving her speechless.
“So. You would render me helpless, lass?”
“I...” She struggled to regain her breath. “I merely intended to undress you.”
“Ah.” The pain in his eyes was replaced with a hint of laughter. “Then by all means, I am your willing servant.”
“You—tricked me. You led me to believe you were too weak to move.”
“And you were going to take advantage of my weakness, lass?”
“I thought to make you more comfortable.”
“And you have.” He drew her closer, enjoying the flush that suddenly reddened her cheeks. “I am exceedingly more comfortable than I was just moments ago.”
“You are despicable.” She pushed against him, but he merely tightened his grip on her. She was amazed by the strength in his hands.
He looked at the woman in his arms. Wisps of hair tumbled wildly across one eye and cheek. Her bodice gaped open, revealing the soft swell of her breasts. Her skirts were twisted around her knees, revealing a fascinating view of shapely legs.
It would seem that beneath the disheveled appearance was a very soft, very womanly creature.
In his fevered state all Jamie’s pain was forgotten, as was his reticence toward this female. In that moment he could think of but one thing. He had to taste her lips.
Lindsey felt his gaze burn over her and settle on her mouth. Color flooded her cheeks. She touched a tongue to her dry lips and realized her mistake when she saw the way his gaze followed the movement. A tiny shiver of alarm raced along her spine. Fear? Aye. It must be fear. What else could she possibly feel for a man who had frightened her, attacked her, used her to get to her father and brothers?
Jamie’s fingers tightened on her arms, drawing her inexorably closer. His look devoured her. And though he cursed himself for every kind of a fool, he could not deny his need.
“Nay.” Lindsey reached out a hand to stop him. As she did, he caught her palm and lifted it to his mouth.
With his lips pressed to the soft flesh of her palm, liquid heat pulsed through her veins, setting her limbs on fire. The protest died on her lips. Never, never had she known such wild, tumultuous feelings.
She lifted wide eyes to his and could read his intentions. God in heaven. He was going to kiss her lips, as well. She forgot to breathe. Her heart forgot to beat.
His mouth closed over hers. It was the merest brush of lips to lips. His touch was firm, his kiss easy and practiced.
Her lips trembled. Never before had she been kissed like this. There had been lads in the village who had tried to kiss her. A few had even succeeded. Always she had turned away from hem, more annoyed than pleased. But this. This was no clumsy youth, struggling with the first stirrings of manhood.
Lindsey experienced a rush of feelings like nothing she had ever known. Her heart was beating so wildly she thought it would surely explode. Her palms became moist. She kept her hands firmly between her body and his, hoping to hold him at arm’s length. But slowly, with a will of their own, her fingers splayed across his naked chest, tingling as they came in contact with his hair-roughened skin.
Jamie drew her closer, allowing his lips to move seductively over hers. The jolt was sudden, shocking. This had been a mistake. He knew it as soon as his lips touched hers, as soon as the first wild spark raged through him. But there was no way to stop it now. His body was suddenly alive, surging with need. But his fevered mind was befuddled. He seemed robbed of his usual discipline. He knew he had to stop this. From the way she kissed him, he knew her to be an innocent maiden. She would be shocked and disgusted by his hunger. By angering her and her family, he would destroy everything he had worked for. But God in heaven, she was so sweet. And though he knew he must end it, he could not. Not yet. One moment more. One more brush of his lips to hers.
Lindsey’s hands curled around his arms, holding on as if her very life depended on it. Ofttimes, lost in sleep, she had dreamed of a knight who would carry her off to some distant shore and make her his own. But always, when she awoke, she felt ashamed of such foolish dreams and renewed her determination that no man would ever claim her. Some inner demon had plagued her from childhood, building a wall of fear around her heart. She knew, if she let go, the spell would be broken and she would awake in her own bed, awash in trembling feelings of guilt and fear.
She kept her eyes firmly closed as his lips moved over hers. And though it was merely a kiss, she sensed the passion, the fire, which he kept so carefully banked.
With his last desperate burst of self-control, Jamie managed to surface and pull himself away. Holding her at a distance, he watched the play of conflicting emotions on her face and recognized astonishment, then fear, and then growing disbelief that bordered on anger.
He lifted a hand and brushed an errant strand of hair from her cheek. Eyes the shade of a Highland pool stared deeply into his.
Color suffused Lindsey’s cheeks. This was not a dream. The man beside her in the bed was real. And very much alive. She was achingly aware of his arousal. Surely the wild beating of his heart matched her own. She struggled to regain her senses.
“I can see that you are quite strong enough to undress yourself.” She pushed herself from his arms and struggled to climb from the bed. She prayed her legs were strong enough to hold her.
He lay quietly, enjoying the sight of her wriggling efforts to smooth down her skirts. What a magnificent body she hid beneath those petticoats. His mouth curved into a roguish smile.
“It will not be nearly as pleasurable as having you undress me, my lady.”
“It is as I first thought.” She turned to face him. Her hands were shaking so badly, she brought them to her hips to steady them. She hoped she gave the impression of righteous indignation. “You are a villain masquerading as a Highland gentleman.”
“Does this mean you will not help me undress?”
“Oh!” As she flounced to the doorway, she nearly collided with the servant who was just entering. “Leave the broth on the bedside table, Moira,” she ordered. “My Lord MacDonald is strong enough to feed himself.”
Jamie watched until she disappeared from view. Then he lay very quietly, feeling the need for her still throbbing within him. His hands, he noted, were not quite steady, and his heart was beating far too rapidly. With a moan of discomfort he rolled to his side and willed himself to bank his desire and seek the rest he so desperately needed.