Her Scottish Groom (34 page)

“Kier?” Her soft inquiry met with no answer. The
light from a single candelabrum showed him fast asleep. She chewed her bottom lip. If he did not remember issuing the invitation tomorrow morning, he would be vastly put out.

He stirred in his sleep, giving a grunt of pain. As he tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position, she threw caution to the winds. Arranging the pillows to provide the most comfortable resting place for him, she slid between the sheets on his uninjured side.

Almost at once, his fingers entwined with hers.

“Dina,” he sighed. Moments later, she felt his warm body relax completely as he slipped deeper into sleep.

   The next few days passed in a blur for Diantha. The need for secrecy complicated the funeral arrangements; fortunately she and Doctor Andrews came up with a satisfactory story to tell Kieran’s extended family. Barclay, it seemed, had been dazzled by the sunset and lost his footing at the cliff’s edge, then his mother’s heart had given way at the news of his death.

“Which is the truth in a way, your ladyship.” The doctor relaxed in her sitting room, sipping a glass of sherry, while Diantha arranged a fragrant bouquet from the gardens. New lines creased the doctor’s face as he changed the subject. “I understand Lord Rossburn has asked to attend the services?”

“He is concerned that everything should appear as normal as possible. I fear he will collapse before their conclusion.” In a low voice, she stated the fear
growing in her heart. “Are you convinced he will make a full recovery? He is still so weak.”

“Your ladyship has nothing to fear.” He crossed the room to clasp her hand in both of his. “He lost a staggering amount of blood. If he’d been left much longer, his wounds would have been fatal.” She shuddered, feeling the prick of tears in her eyes.

“There, now, don’t cry. While he’ll be weak as a kitten for some time, proper food and plenty of rest will restore him. You just take the same good care of him that you have been.” He patted her hand.

“The worst thing is he doesn’t even argue about being confined to bed.” A wry smile twisted her mouth. “It’s not like him.”

“That depends on what I’m doing there.” Kieran stood in the doorway, braced up by his valet. Still far too pale, a lively twinkle nevertheless animated his aqua eyes.

“Kieran Moray St. Colm!”
Face burning, Diantha glared at him as Davison helped him to the divan. “You are disgraceful!”

“Well I know it.” The doctor’s chuckle relieved her slightly. “I’ve had that lad as a patient a good deal longer than you have, you know.”

He picked up his medical bag and took his leave a few minutes later, after assuring himself that Davison had not disturbed any bandages.

She approached her husband uncertainly. He had appeared comfortable enough in his room.

“You needed a change of scenery?” She resisted the urge to brush an unruly wave of hair off his forehead. A shock ran through her as he caught her hand.

“My room was getting a bit oppressive.” His hand gently squeezed her fingers. “And lonely.” Diantha’s heart fluttered at his words, but she was afraid to hope he spoke out of anything but boredom and solitude.

The next month followed the same pattern. Except on the day of the double funeral for Barclay and Iona, he spent hours in her company. During the days when he lacked the strength to do anything but lay down, she ran the household from her sitting room. At first the servants found it uncomfortable to discuss their duties in his presence, but as Lord Rossburn did not attempt to interfere, they adjusted.

Estate business proved a greater challenge. Riding out to oversee the property was out of the question in Kieran’s weakened state. He tried to conduct business through reports and interviews with the bailiff, but Mr. Johnstone could not be everywhere himself.

“Why not use Archie Green?” Diantha made the suggestion after another endless interview that left both employer and employee frustrated. “He’s trustworthy and respected by the tenants. Give him a position such as ‘assistant bailiff,’ perhaps, and pay him for it.”

The two men looked at each other.

“Right under our noses the entire time.” Kieran grinned ruefully.

“Indeed, my lord.” Johnstone bowed slightly in her direction. “Her ladyship’s proposal is most sensible, and very welcome.”

“Her ladyship is as clever as she is kind and
lovely.” Under the affectionate smile he bestowed upon her, she gulped and weakly thanked him for the compliment. Then, stammering that she needed something from her chamber, she promptly fled.

Pacing the floor of her bedroom, she berated herself for foolishness. In truth, she admitted silently, her husband’s recuperation had been the sweetest time of her marriage so far.

She felt valued as never before in her life. He seemed to enjoy her company, allowing her to cosset him, asking her to read aloud in the evenings. He even insisted on sleeping with her every night, although sleeping was all that happened in the immense oak bed. She had discovered waking up with him to be even more intimate than the intense lovemaking they had shared previously.

A dozen times, she had been on the verge of bringing up the feelings she had revealed to him. Fear had stopped her, and the conviction that he could never return them. He might rely on her good judgment and care for now, but surely he would eventually seek some woman more interesting than she was.

Instead, she enjoyed his company and wrote of each day in her journal, so she could treasure the memory of this time in the years ahead.

   Finally the night came when Kieran gathered her close in his arms upon retiring, kissing her deeply. Diantha pulled back. “Is this wise?”

He could hardly pretend not to understand her with the solid jut of his
manhood hardening againsther leg. “I don’t care if it’s wise or not. We haven’t made love since before Barclay shot me.”

She winced, even knowing that his cousin could never threaten them again.

He cupped her cheek with a hand and regarded her soberly. “You saved my life. Barclay planned that for months.”

She shuddered. “How can you be so calm?”

“Because I survived. I’m here in one piece, at least mostly.” Lying back down on his side of the bed, he propped himself up on an elbow. She tried to read his face. “And that’s because you refused to abandon me, and nearly got killed on my behalf.” Unnerved by the utter seriousness in his voice, she dropped her gaze to the vicinity of his chin.

“I would prefer that you not make love to me out of a sense of obligation.” It pained her to force the words out as memories of his touch burned through her body.

“Dammit, Diantha!” Startled by the exclamation, she lifted her eyes to his. Only inches away, the raw intensity radiating from the blue green depths arrested her.

“I will be profoundly thankful for your courage every day of my life.” A crooked smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “But I assure you my motivation tonight is overwhelming lust.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “Promise?”

He burst out laughing. “Promise!” Tingles ran up her arm as his fingers traced the veins on the back of her hand where it rested on the pillow between them. “Most women would have been mortally offended should their husbands have said that.”

“I’ve learned the value of a lusty husband.” She
barely gasped out the words before he pulled her into a passionate embrace. He rained kisses on her face as one hand slipped beneath the fragile batiste of her nightgown to stroke the soft skin of her thigh.

With a groan of pleasure, she gave herself up to the liquid heat coiling through her body. Pulling him down to her, she returned his kisses almost frantically. When he buried his face in her neck to lick and nibble his way to her earlobe, her breathing turned ragged. His hand fumbled at the buttons of her nightgown, trying to unfasten them. With a rueful smile down at her, he deposited a hard peck on her lips before pulling back to use both hands. She chuckled and pushed his hands aside.

“Let me.”

He watched, riveted, as she undid the top button. “Slower,” he breathed. She arched a brow, but complied, fascinated by the way his breathing quickened as her fingers worked their way down the plaquet. He sat back on his heels as she eased the gaping neckline off her shoulders, clenching his hands where they rested on either side of the bulge in his silk pyjamas. The heat in his eyes ignited a fire in her veins and her urgency transmuted into languor.

Reaching out, he slowly exposed her breasts. Her nipples tightened under his gaze, but he did not touch her except to pull the material down her body. She ran a hand over his arm, lifting her hips as he freed her from the wispy material.

“Kieran?” She puckered her brow as he stared down at her. His hands stayed balled in her wadded up nightgown.

“I want to look at you.” The huskiness in his voice betrayed his want.

She grinned in relief. “You have looked at me on numerous occasions.” She clasped her hands behind her head, arching her back slightly. His eyes crinkled with amusement at her ploy, but he replied soberly.

“I want to take my time tonight.” She shivered as he stroked her cheek, then followed the curve of her neck, then down to linger at the hard peak of her breast before continuing down to her waist.

“I trust you’ll allow me to do the same?” Heart pounding, she sat up and loosened the tie at his waist. A surge of feminine power rushed through her as she felt his erection twitch beneath her hand. His breath rasped as she pushed him back onto the coverlet and pulled the silk down his long legs.

Completely naked, he made love to her as he never had before. He caressed every inch of her with his hands and mouth and invited her to explore his body in return. The barriers she had always sensed between them seemed to disappear as he brought her to climax with mouth and body.

Afterward, they lay silently in each other’s arms for a long time, content. On the verge of sleep, the words of their marriage ceremony came to Dina’s mind unexpectedly: “With my body I thee worship.” She wondered if this is what that felt like.

   The next morning she woke up alone in her room yet again. Disappointment overwhelmed her. She had thought the freedom of their love-making the night before signaled deeper feelings on Kieran’s side. She curled into a ball and took a
shaky breath. It had apparently signaled nothing more than a return to his normal routine.

Despite the late summer sunlight that streamed in when her maid opened the windows, she felt gray and lifeless. Listlessly she allowed Florette to dress her in a morning gown of amethyst twill. She refused to wear mourning in private for Barclay and his mother.

“Milady is not going to read her note?” The maid handed her a square of heavy vellum, addressed to her in her husband’s slashing hand. As the maid straightened up the room, Diantha unfolded it.

   
Dearest Dina
,

Please join me for a picnic lunch today? Doctor
Andrews has pronounced me fully recovered and
I should like to celebrate. Meet me downstairs at
11:30. Wear a riding habit
.

Yours, Kieran

   Numbly, she folded the paper back up and moved to her desk to draft a reply. He wanted to take her on a private picnic? It sounded so promising, but she squelched her hopes ruthlessly. They had no guests, who else was there for him to turn to when he suffered from boredom?

Nevertheless, a few hours later she descended the wide stairway to the entry five minutes early, wearing a cerise serge riding habit that flattered her brown hair and blue eyes. Thoughts of her own appearance left her head when she saw Kieran pacing the floor, already waiting for her.

“You’re wearing a kilt!”

“Clever of you to notice.” His lips twisted into the lopsided grin that never failed to make her smile back. The severity of the ash gray plaid shot with green, blue, and yellow enhanced his stunning good looks. He wore a black jacket above the skirt with a crisp white shirt underneath. Another length of plaid was looped diagonally around his body and secured at the left shoulder with a badge. Diantha swallowed at the sight of his muscular calves, then glanced at his face. She had nearly started drooling on the man; how humiliating.

Kieran’s eyes swept slowly down her body with a glint of appreciation that set her heart hammering. He offered his arm. “Shall we go?”

Outside, the groom threw her up into the saddle while Kieran mounted his own horse. Seeing her look about for servants to accompany them, he patted one of the two hampers slung behind his saddle. “I thought we might serve ourselves today.”

“I should like that very much.” She beamed at him as they set out. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

He refused to disclose their destination despite her lighthearted coaxing. The ride passed with laughter and teasing until they reached a meadow stretching in all directions. The scent of heather arose with every step the horses took. After helping her dismount, he stood for a long moment looking down at her with eyes gone serious.

She returned her husband’s regard, wrinkling her brow, until he let go of her waist and stepped away to fetch the baskets. She frowned at his back, wondering if he toyed with her emotions on purpose.

“You could be of some assistance here!” The
smiling request came as Kieran turned, arms full, to face her once more.

Together they spread the tablecloth and unpacked the carefully wrapped china, glasses, and crystal. MacAdam’s perfectionism did not permit him to provide an inferior meal, and they dined on potted salmon with toast points, cold chicken in cream sauce, cucumbers vinaigrette, rolls, butter, and cheese. They washed everything down with a bottle of white wine. Only the wild birds wheeling overhead and the steady breeze kept them company.

“However did you get MacAdam to prepare all this on short notice?” Diantha inelegantly licked a spot of crème anglaise from her index finger. Beside her lay a dessert plate with only a few crumbs of cake left.

In the noonday warmth, they had both removed their jackets, and she relished the sensation of eating in her shirtsleeves.