Chapter Fifteen

The scratch at Malcolm’s door interrupted his endless pacing and momentarily distracted him from the dark thoughts in his mind.

Who might it be at this late hour? For the household slept, even Catha gone to her chamber. Dinner, hours ago, had been grim and nearly silent, Catha pale from hearing his news, and he half strangled with his grief.

Only Tansy had partaken heartily of the fine fare, speaking little and watching them both with her all-seeing eyes.

He swung wide the door now to reveal her standing, just as if his thoughts had conjured her. She wore naught but a white chemise, her tiny feet once more bare, and her black hair hung loose around her, swirling slightly in the eddies of air. The flame of the candle she carried bent and swayed also, as if bowing to him.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered. “You should be fast asleep.”

“I could not sleep, not in my own bed. Will I come in?”

Not in her own bed. What was that supposed to mean? Did she think to take her rest in his? Even as his body responded to the idea, he blocked her way. “Nay.”

“But we need to speak.”

Speak, was it? “We can do so in the morning.”

“Now. My room is three doors down fro’ yours, but still I could feel that you were awake. It may help, getting things off your mind.”

It might help to kiss her, stoke the fire he knew lay inside her. To drag her to the bed and plunge inside her over and over again. Suddenly it seemed the best idea he’d had since he left France.

She sidled past him, her body brushing against his; just like that, he came alight. He swore bitterly, and she set the candle down before turning to face him.

“Out wi’ it. Tell me what is keeping you fro’ your rest.”

He replied to the request with a question. “You say you could feel me awake?”

“Aye. It seems some sort o’ connection has formed between us.”

Malcolm scowled, not certain he liked that. Before he could decide, she went and perched on his bed, which had seen little enough of his presence this night. She said, “I thought, Sir Malcolm, I might provide you some comfort.”

His throat closed. “Comfort?”

“Aye, a friendly ear—or anything else you need. Tell me what torments you so.”

“You know very well. ’Tis Catha. You ha’ seen her, listened to her. You must be able to tell what she is—warm, honest, and loving. She trusts me. How can I betray her? And yet if I’m to save Mercien, what other choice ha’ I?”

“You love her.” Tansy said it softly but with certainty.

“Of course I love her. What man would no’? Every part of me cries out to protect her. Instead I maun deliver her to that villain. Impossible! She has already endured one hellish marriage. And aye, Latham will wed wi’ her. He wants her wealth and her property.”

“And what of Mistress Catha? Does she return your love?”

“Like a brother, she says.” He grimaced.

“Does she love Mercien?”

“Och, aye. That does not mak’ it right for me to sacrifice her for his sake. Will Mercien ever forgive me if I do?” Would his father forgive him if he did not?

“It sounds to me as if this villain, Latham, desperately needs to die.”

That captured all Malcolm’s attention. “Aye so, but how? He lurks like a beast in that stronghold o’ his, all his men about him.”

“Too bad you do not ha’ the acquaintance o’ a witch who might be willing to act on your behalf.”

He stepped closer to the bed. “Is that possible? Could a witch do aught to help?”

“I do no’ ken, do I? But such a woman, loyal to you,” she paused significantly, “bonded wi’ you, might be able to help accomplish the deed.”

“B-bonded wi’ me?” he stuttered, able to do nothing but repeat the words.

She smiled the same smile she’d given him back in the wood and said, “My braw Sir Knight, come to bed.”

****

Tansy watched through slitted eyes while Malcolm stripped off his tunic, the blood thrumming in her veins. His dark gaze never left her as he tossed the garment on the floor and reached to unfasten his leggings. She wished she could understand the craving for him that rode her, continuous and relentless, a bright need demanding to be assuaged.

A right eyeful he made and no mistake, when the leggings joined the tunic on the floor. Apart from his wounds, he could not be more pleasing as he stood before her, his black hair loose, the candlelight caressing the muscles of shoulders, chest, and thighs.

And below…aye well, she knew fine he made an even better handful than an eyeful.

“Come here,” she bade again.

One eyebrow quirked. He did not move even though he already stood proud for her. “Who is it giving the orders?”

“It is I.”

“Even though ’twas you swore to obedience?”

“Come here, Sir Knight. ’Twill be to your advantage.”

He took two steps but said, “This will solve nothing.”

“Will it no’?” She sat up and drew her gown over her head, marking how his eyes lit when her bare skin came into view. “’Twill bring you comfort and further strengthen our bonds.”

“Do I want our bonds strengthened?”

“If you wish for my help.”

“Would you so compel me to couple wi’ you?”

A good question, but Tansy did not hesitate with her reply. “I have a powerful hunger for the taste o’ you. I will do as I must.”

That drew him the rest of the way to the bed. As soon as he came within reach, she reached out and caressed him, before wrapping her fingers tight. “Ah, Sir Malcolm, but you are beautiful.”

“As are you, wee witch.”

“Do you think so?” She near preened with delight.

“Och, aye.” He came down onto the bed. The candle flickered and went out. “Ah,” he murmured in her ear, “we maun light that again.”

“Why?” She sounded breathless.

“I want to see the look in your eyes when I am inside you.”

“Aye, but first I’ve this terrible craving to ease.” She leaned forward, open mouthed, to taste his skin. Throat, chest, stomach. By mere touch, she followed the tantalizing path made by the line of black hair that bisected the rippled muscles of his abdomen, moving ever downward. She still had her fingers wrapped around him when she bent further to taste him, a delicate flick of her tongue.

He gasped and stiffened in every limb. “Tansy.”

Her name on his lips tumbled her over the edge. Hair falling forward, she bent and enfolded him with her lips, caressed him with lavish care before she paused and asked, “Have you never done this before?”

“Nay.” He sounded hoarse. “We heard about it in France but never—”

“Nor ha’ I, but it seems natural wi’ you.”

“Surely such pleasure maun be a sin.”

“Aye, surely it must. Do you care?” Not awaiting a reply, she took him into her mouth again. The persuasions of her tongue soon had him moving, flexing those wonderful muscles, as hard as iron inside her mouth.

Lithesome, she bowed her body and released her hold on him, but only so she might wrap her hands around his buttocks instead and draw him deeper in.

Malcolm groaned and buried his hands in her hair, fingers cradling her skull. “Tansy. Tansy, I will surely lose my senses.”

The intensity of her pleasure made it impossible to reply. If he thought she’d release him now for mere words…

“Easy, lass.” His grip on her hair became pressure. “We canna’—”

She could. She wanted all of him, heat and taste. Her magnificent, beautiful knight.

She made a sound in her throat, one of utter surrender. His control broke at almost the same instant and, hot and sudden, he yielded to her what she desired.

The shock and delight of it went through her, a stab of pure bliss. Completeness beyond describing. A wealth of feeling scalded her, so powerful that for an instant the world and all it contained fell away.

“Tansy.” He caressed her hair, her cheeks, and drew her into his arms. The tenderness of it undid her still further and made it impossible to speak.

A good man, Sir Malcolm Montgomery. One with kindness in him. One to whom she might present her heart.

But nay, for love brought only vulnerability, and vulnerability pain. She could not—

Before she might complete the thought, he released her. Protest arose; she whimpered and clung to him. “Nay.”

“Whisht, lass. I go only to strike the light.” Freeing himself from her, he did as much; the weak flame gained strength and allowed her to see him standing beside the bed, tall and strong.

His gaze caressed her slowly—lips, breasts, and thighs—before he said, “I hope you do no’ suppose we are done. Tansy Bellrose Gant, I mak’ good on my promises.”

“Aye,” she whispered, “and the night is long.”