Highland Warlord - Amy Jarecki Page 0,25
dormer and slipped through the bars of the rear gate. Not many adults were able to fit through the gap, but she’d been doing it since her arrival six years past.
Though well after compline, there was still at least an hour of daylight remaining—plenty of time to bid goodnight to Sir James. She stopped behind the hedge for a moment and listened.
Water trickled near the well, but she heard no voices.
May as well make my presence known.
Stepping out, she clasped her hands over her heart and gasped. Merciful saints, the knight stood stripped to the waist with his back to her.
He wore only a plaid belted low about his hips, his muscles rippling with his every move. He splashed under his arms and over his head. Rivulets of sparkling water trickled down his flesh, accentuating dozens of puckered scars—a true sign of a swordsman.
Moving nearer, Ailish reached out as if to trace her finger over the longest mark, starting at his flank and running diagonally across his back. But as she stepped within touching distance, he spun around with a dirk in his fist and fire in his hawkish eyes.
She froze, completely speechless.
In a flash, his gaze changed from deadly to daring, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.
He broke the spell as he reached for a cloth while streams of water meandered their way through the black hair on his chest—a chest so powerfully sculpted it didn’t appear to need to be covered by armor at all. “Forgive me, m’lady. I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, wiping his face.
Ailish blinked, staring at the silver cross he wore over his heart. “Nay, I shouldn’t have come.”
He tossed the cloth aside and stepped nearer—so close the heat from his body made her mouth go dry. “I’m glad you did.”
“Truly?” she asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Where are the others?”
“Gone to the village for a pint of ale—at least one with a wee kick.”
“Aye, the nuns water the wine and ask the brewer to make the ale weak.” A high-pitched chuckle tittered from her throat. “When do you plan to leave?”
“At dawn.”
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “Oh.”
When Sir James grasped her hand, Ailish’s very breath caught in her chest with a wee gasp. And then she could have floated to the skies as he held her palm over his heart. “I wish we lived in a different time.”
Her gaze shifted to his lips as she licked her own. “I do as well.”
He dipped his chin. “But we must stay the course.”
She inched up on the tips of her toes, needing to be a wee bit closer. “We both bear a heavy burden.”
“Aye,” he whispered, cupping her cheek with his hand—oddly warm since he’d just been bathing with cold water.
As those bold, masculine lips neared, every inch of Ailish’s skin tingled. A deep growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating through her while his intoxicating mouth claimed hers. Slipping her arms around his waist, she deepened the pressure, craving more. Sir James drew her nearer until her breasts crushed into his scar-ridden, rock-hard chest, making her crave more, more kisses, more of him, more of something she did not begin to understand.
His lips wandered across her cheekbones, her ears, and down her neck. Sighing, she dropped her head back and gave in to pure pleasure.
“I wish…” he mumbled.
“What do you wish, sir?” she asked breathlessly.
Sir James inhaled deeply and leaned his forehead against hers. “Forgive me for taking liberties, m’lady.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Looking into his fathomless eyes, eyes of a man who fought like the devil, yet he was more tender with her than she ever dreamed possible. “Our lives were not meant to be easy.”
“Mine will never be. Ye ken I have sworn an oath to King Robert—one which may see my end.”
“You will prevail. But first we wait. You will build your army.”
“And wait for the king to grow stronger.”
“Aye.” Ailish took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Day and night, I will pray for justice and liberty.”
“And I pray when our paths again cross, the kingdom will be at peace.”
With one last kiss, Ailish left him, as if she were floating. But she was not only dazed, uncertainty kept her from floating all the way to the clouds. Merciful saints, she might be old and bent before Scotland saw peace.
***
Among the letters James carried from the king was a missive of introduction to John Blair, an old monk who James found on