Emerald Embrace (26 page)

No, she was more in love with him than ever.

And the memories of the night were a fresh torment, filled with both sweetness and anguish. She trembled suddenly, and realized that she was different and would never be the same. He had changed her tonight, forever.

She should have been ashamed, she should have had regrets, but she did not. Indeed, he was dark, he was dangerous, but she knew in her heart that she could not have found a more passionate, seductive, and tender lover than the man who had claimed her. The laird of Creeghan. He had touched and awakened her. And in her heart, she could not believe him a ghost.

Yet even then, knowing her heart, she could not sleep. She lay awake and remembered the sight of his face, a true reflection, in the coffin. Nor could she forget the lights at night.

Or the rumors of things that happened on the nights when the full moon reigned. Rumors … and things she had seen with her own eyes. Downed ships and a girl buried beneath the brick of the walls of the castle.

But Bruce was innocent. He had to be. No, not Bruce. Bryan. Bryan Creeghan.

She should not think it, because she must not say it. She must keep his secret.

She believed him, she thought. Or she believed in him. She must not do so too easily! she chastised herself. She had to take care with him. Grave care. In all that happened, she still did not know what he felt for her. His whispers had been gentle, tender even, in the act of love.

But his words later had been taunting, and he was still as suspicious as she.

She could not tell him about the emerald.

And she knew, as she settled into sleep, that even more than her life, she truly had to guard her heart. She was going to stay, and so he would haunt her, day and night.

And she could not let him know how much of her he held already within his grasp. She dared not.

Not if she meant to keep her very soul …

    Sometime in the night, Martise slept. And yet she was exhausted when Bryan rather rudely woke her, shaking her shoulders.

He was up and dressed, handsomely attired in navy trousers and cotton shirt. He was freshly shaven and looked none the worse for wear despite the night. She was certain that she had not survived it so well.

She groaned as he shook her. “Have a heart,” she pleaded into the pillow. “Let me be.”

“I cannot,” he argued. “It’s time I return you to your own room.”

He pulled her over and she belatedly remembered that she was sleeping naked in his bed. She pulled the sheet around her and realized she was not so emotional by daylight. The fire in his eyes betrayed nothing as he watched her, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than a bath. The sensual male scent of him still seemed to cling to her flesh. Or was it simply that he was standing before her, smelling of soap and shave lotion?

She rolled, bringing the sheet around her body, and rose with an air of grandeur. “Seriously, sir, I do believe that I should have returned last night!”

To her annoyance, he laughed. “Ah, is it better to walk the halls in naught but a sheet by the light of the moon rather than risk the betrayal of daylight?”

She didn’t reply, but tossed her hair over her shoulders and headed for the door. He was right behind her, and his stride swiftly matched hers. She gritted her teeth.

“This is truly marvelous, milord. It will definitely allay suspicions if you walk along with me while I am cloaked in a sheet!”

“I’m not damping suspicions, milady,” he told her, eyes still sizzling with amusement. “I am seeing you safely to your door.”

They had walked the corridor and stood before it even then. There was no one about in the early dawn.

He bowed with exaggerated courtesy. “We need to talk, but we’ll do so later. As always, bolt yourself in,” he told her.

She closed the door tightly behind her and bolted it securely, then cast herself down upon her bed. She began to tremble as it struck her anew that she could never be the same again.

She had met the dragon in truth, and she had been filled with the sweet flame of his breath.

She hadn’t thought she would sleep again. She had meant to just lie there until she found the energy to rise, but when she closed her eyes, it seemed she fell instantly asleep, unplagued by any dreams.

Much later, she heard a tapping at her door. She called out, and Holly answered her. She arose to pull the bolt and then remembered that she was still wearing a sheet. She tore hastily through a drawer and found another gown, slipped it over her shoulders, and allowed Holly to enter. Holly had tea, hot delicious tea, and crumb cakes.

Martise thanked her and devoured the tea and cakes, amazed at the extent of her hunger. As Holly chatted, Martise interrupted to ask that the bath be brought and Holly promised she would attend to it immediately.

While she waited for the bath, Martise stood on the balcony and looked out on the cliffs, listening to the sounds of the sea crashing against the shore. She heard voices, yet remained on the balcony, aware that Jemie and Trey and the giant McCloud had brought up the tub and the water. She closed her eyes and felt the breeze, and waited for them to leave. When they were gone, she closed and bolted the balcony doors.

Holly awaited her, but Martise assured her that she meant to soak until the water cooled, and that she would be fine by herself. When the maid was gone, Martise bolted the door, then stripped and stepped into the bath. She felt the water swirl around her, bathing her thighs, steaming away the touch of soreness, but not the memory.

She leaned her head back, and then, despite the heat, she shivered as she wondered just who in the castle could be a murderer. She swallowed against the memories of the poor sailor who had died by the caves, and of the pathetic bones that had been walled within the crypt.

There was a slight noise, and she sat up suddenly, tension tingling down her spine. She whirled around, and a scream of amazement caught in her throat when she saw that Bryan Creeghan was in her room. Cocky, arrogant, hands on his hips, dark hair askew upon his forehead, eyes bold and challenging.

She pulled the sponge to her breasts and glanced to the balcony and the entrance, but all the doors were bolted. Her eye shot back to his with amazement. “By God, how on earth …?” she asked incredulously.

He bowed slightly, raising an arm. “The armoire, milady. There is a spring on the side, which slides it and a secret doorway open.”

She stared at him, feeling an intense fury growing and sat up, eyes snapping. “You laird of all bastards!” she hissed. “You’ve been in here before!”

“Aye, that I have.”

She flung the sponge at him fiercely, calling him every evil thing she could think to mutter. He caught the sponge easily enough, and seemed amused rather than daunted by her words. He crossed to the tub and stood over her and she ended her tirade on a furious note. “How dare you? How dare you! You’ve no right in here now or ever, you barbarian Highlander, you—”

“Ah, but I’m standing here now to return something that you too carelessly cast aside,” he told her, eyes flashing amusement as he plopped the sponge back down on her. And then, to her great distress, he knelt by the tub, fingers idly curled around its rim, his eyes a wicked flame as they caught hers. “And I never came to do you harm, milady—”

“Stop that!” she spat at him. “You know that I am not ‘milady,’ and you mock me with it again and again!”

“Ah, but in truth, I do not mock you. I find you to be a lady indeed, fascinating, beautiful, beguiling. I am bewitched.”

Her eyes widened. She never knew when he taunted …

When he was serious.

When he merely intended to seduce.

“You came into my room at night!” she accused him.

“From the very first night,” he admitted frankly. “I came to see that you were safe and well each night.”

Her eyes narrowed. A shimmering sensation swept throughout her, just from the heated caress of his gaze. She wondered how he could affect her so without the slightest touch, and yet, inside, she knew.

She knew where such a bold glance could lead. She knew the feel of his eyes raking down her nakedness, and that it was a soft reminder of the sensual sweep of his hands, the caress of his searing kiss.

Her breath was coming too quickly. To her dismay she felt her breasts swell, her nipples tighten to hard peaks, and her pulse begin to beat wildly against her throat. She forced her voice to hardness. “I am fine. You need not be here now.”

But he had seen that pulse against her throat, and he leaned toward her, pushing back her dampened hair and placing his lips against the frantic blue vein where the pulse beat. She caught her breath, leaning back, feeling his lips slide over the steam-dampened length of her throat. She fought the desire that seemed to burst forth like the bloom of a rose within her. “I told you!” she whispered desperately. “I will not sleep with you—”

His lips covered hers. His mouth was open and his tongue probed her mouth with an unceasing demand, finding every sweet crevice, invading, demanding, seducing …

No! She would not be so easily led astray, even if she had already traveled the forbidden path. She twisted from his touch, and still she could not breathe, but she fought hard to do so. “Out, Laird Creeghan!” she demanded imperiously. “You’ve no right here. And if you think to come furtively through a secret door ever again—”

She broke off threateningly. But the threat did not disturb him. He arched one of his autocrat’s brows. “Do tell, milady.”

“Take care, milord,” she warned, eyes narrowing, voice a warning purr. “I shall slap that arrogant face in two seconds.”

“You may try.”

“And I may succeed.” She modestly crossed her arms more tightly about her breasts, drawing in her knees.

“And what do you hide from me, lass?”

“Out, Laird Creeghan! You are a dragon, I do believe.”

He shook his head and the amusement faded away, and he seemed tense when he said softly, “I warned you, milady, that if you stayed, then I would have you.”

Martise flushed, startled by the new passion in his voice that held no taunt, and no hint of laughter.

“Well, milady, it has come to pass, and I’ll not forget that it has, nor shall I allow you to forget.”

“I told you—”

“You’ve nothing left to hide from me, lass. And I warned you, too, that I would haunt you, day and night.”

He stood suddenly and sauntered to the armoire. “I’ll never force you,” he promised softly, and his gaze burned her flesh far more thoroughly than the heat of the water. “But I will have you again, and willing, I vow it. Nor shall I cease to haunt you, as I have promised.”

“But—”

“Are you still determined to stay?” he demanded.

“Yes, yes!” she cried, and her fingers wound tightly around the rim of the tub.

Bryan Creeghan clenched his jaw tightly. His fists knotted at his back as he watched her. Did the lass not know that she drove him to distraction? Her hair curled and waved about her forehead in damp splendor, as if she were some sea goddess. And now that she had moved her hands, the water just crested the fullness of her breasts, framing the coral aureolas, teasing the taut peaks. Tightness constricted his groin and his limbs, and he wanted nothing more than to deny his words, and wrench her damp and dripping from the tub and into his arms. He could bring her willing, into his arms, giving and eager and pouring the sweetness of herself upon him, by God he could!

He clamped down with a greater vengeance on his jaw, and locked it in a twist. Nay, he could not! Not now …

For if she was determined to stay, then it must be at his side, in accord with his every whim. And she had to understand that.

“Then I’ve come to talk!” he told her harshly.

She sank back into the water, wariness creeping into her eyes.

“Yes?”

“Someone in this castle is guilty,” he reminded her. “And if you’re going to be here, you must help me discover who. Trust no one. Be ever wary. And remember, above all else, whatever I say, and whatever I do, you must agree with me.”

“All right,” she said after a moment.

“Whatever I say, whatever I do,” he repeated in a stern command. “Swear it.”

“All right!” she repeated. Then added through her teeth, “I swear it!”

He bowed to her, and she watched as he walked to the armoire and slipped his hand in back to slide a panel at its rear.

Martise choked when she saw how swiftly and silently the wall, with the armoire, slid open two feet. Then Bryan disappeared, and the panel closed, and she was left to glower at it in a newly rising fury.

“Whatever you say, indeed!” she muttered. “Beast!” But he was gone, and so it was easy to defy him.

She finished scrubbing herself with a fury, and still the memories remained. Impatient, she rose from the tub and toweled dry with a vengeance.

Despite her simmering anger, when she dressed and came downstairs for the midday meal, Martise meant to keep her vow.

They were all assembled at the table. Elaina, Ian, Conar, Uncle Peter, and Bruce—no, Bryan!—Creeghan. And even as she looked at them, she could not believe that any of them could be guilty. Not Ian with his laughing ways, nor Peter with his kindness, nor Conar with his sense of responsibility. And certainly not gentle Elaina …

The talk was of the games, and she found she could still laugh when Ian remarked that he really needed to invent a new game so that he needn’t feel obliged to toss a caber. Bryan was silent, sipping his wine, watching the others.

And then suddenly, he spoke, voice a soft and casual burr, gold-green gaze moving slowly around the table.

“By the by, there’s something I feel I must share with you all immediately,” he said.

He rose, and Martise watched him as he came around to stand behind her chair. His hands rested on her shoulders while his thumbs moved with startling intimacy and affection along her throat. And then, to her amazement, he bent low to place a gentle and tender kiss upon her cheek.

“Lady St. James has consented to become Lady Creeghan.”