Bedding the Enemy - By Mary Wine Page 0,92

warmth. Ripples of delight continued to move along her limbs long after Keir had ground himself into her for the final time. She held him, her hands smoothing over his back. He caught his weight on his elbows but didn’t roll off her quickly. Instead he pressed small kisses along her forehead, over her cheek and down to her neck. His heartbeat slowed to normal before he drew a stiff breath and moved.

He hooked an arm under her waist and pulled her over so that her head rested on his chest. Reality broke through her joy as she looked around the room, truly seeing it for the first time. There were three windows, but she would have to stand on a stool to see out because they were set so high in the wall. Since it was a tower room, the chamber was round but the windows were thin to make it harder for arrows to enter. It also served to keep prisoners inside.

Only the bare essentials furnished the camber: two X-framed chairs that looked many years out of date and a small table that was scarred and etched with knife marks. There was no carpet on the floor, only the dull stone with a coat of dust. The pile of firewood along the wall was the most luxurious thing afforded her husband. If the yeomen were angry enough, they would have forgotten to bring up such a comfort.

There was a second doorway that led to a short walk along the inner curtain wall. The young princess Elizabeth had used it during her incarceration within the Tower. The doorway was narrow and low, built to Norman standards, and she guessed that her husband would have to duck to clear the top of it.

The bed was nice enough. Keir had his noble blood to thank for that. Along with the fact that he didn’t stand accused of treason. Murdering a peer was no small crime, but it was considered something that might allow him to be kept in the Tower according to his station. Those incarcerated for treason against their monarch would discover just how miserable the Tower’s dungeons were. If she had felt horror permeating the air when she entered, it no doubt rose from those places where torture was employed. She shivered and a warm hand smoothed over her shoulder.

“Tell me about the home you plan to take me to.”

The hand on her shoulder paused and gripped, betraying his emotions.

“Red Stone? ’Tis a fine place. The heather will bloom in a few more weeks…. Have ye ever seen heather? Or inhaled its scent when the sun is warming the blossoms?”

Helena listened to his words. She used every bit of self-dicipline she had ever been forced to cultivate to focus on the picture he painted of a place she made herself believe she would someday go with him. There was no other option to consider. She refused to think about the Privy Council or the demands of other noblemen for Keir’s blood. She wouldn’t think about his head being displayed on the bridge as a warning to others.

She would immerse herself in his words, the rich sound of his voice, and believe as she had never believed in anything else that faith would deliver them both to Red Stone.

“Curse this rain!” Farrell glared at the sky. The swollen clouds were black, promising more rain, not reprieve. His feet sank in the mud up to his ankles, wringing another curse from his lips.

There was nothing but swollen ground to find. The Thames was flooding and sweeping debris along in its powerful current. He studied the way it rolled large tree limbs under the surface with ease. There was power in the current, the sort that may have made easy work of sweeping a lass to her death.

He grabbed the thick neck of his horse and fit his foot into the stirrup. With a pull and push, he swung up into the saddle. He didn’t bother to notice how wet it was. That didn’t matter.

“We’re going to split up—half of ye go to the opposite bank to search for the girl. See if some silver buys us the information we need.”

None of his clansmen looked any too hopeful. It was an opinion he shared, but there was little point in dwelling on it. He was a McQuade, after all. Keir McQuade had taken the name he was born to and restored more luster than most of them had believed possible in the

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