Kiss of the Highlander (30 page)

He needed to tup. Her. Now.

He slammed his body against the door.

It scarce shuddered.

Howling, he flung himself at it again. And again, and again.

It didn’t give a hairbreadth. Furious, he slammed his fists on the door above his head. Another shudder, but nothing significant.

He stepped back, eyeing it warily, telling himself he did not feel a bud of respect blossoming. Might the canny wench have wedged braces between the wall and the door,
all
the way up? Christ, he’d never get out! He knew how sturdy the door was, it had been hewn extra thick for privacy.

“Open up!” he roared, pounding it with his fist.

Nothing.

“Lass, if you open up now, I’ll leave you in one piece, but I swear to you, if you keep me in here
one more moment
I will tear you limb from wee limb,” he threatened.

Silence.

“Lass! Wench! Gwen-do-
lynnnnnn
!”

Outside the door, Gwen eyed the five lances lodged at varying angles between the door and the stone wall. Nope. No way. He was never getting out of there. Not until she was good and ready.

But it was pretty darned impressive how much the door shuddered each time his body hit it.

“You might have to let him yell himself hoarse, m’dear,” Silvan said, leaning over the balustrade.

Gwen tipped her head back. “I’m sorry, Silvan. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He grinned, and Gwen realized where Drustan had gotten his mischievous grin. “I wouldn’t have missed seeing my son getting barricaded in the privy by a wee lass for anything. Bonny fortune with your plan, m’dear,” he said with a smile, then ambled off.

Gwen eyed the shuddering door, then clamped her hands over her ears and sat down to wait him out.

“I brought ye coffee, lass,” Nell shouted.

“Thanks, Nell,” Gwen shouted back.

They both jumped at the next enraged roar from behind the garderobe door.

“Is that you, Nell?” Drustan thundered.

Nell shrugged. “Aye, ’tis me. Bringin’ coffee to the lass.”

“You’re dismissed. Fired. The end. Hie you from my castle. Begone.”

Nell rolled her eyes and smiled at Gwen. “Be ye wantin’ breakfast, lass?” she said sweetly, loud enough that Drustan could hear it.

Another roar.

By ten o’clock she thought he might soon be ready to talk. He’d threatened, blustered, even tried to sweet-talk her. Then the bribery had begun. He’d let her live if she let him out immediately. He’d give her three horses, two sheep, and a cow. He’d give her a pouch of coin, three horses, two sheep, not just a cow but a milking cow,
and
set her up anywhere in England, if she would just leave his castle and not bother him again for the rest of his life. The only offer/threat that had perked her momentary interest was when he’d shouted that he was going to “toop her ’til her bonny legs fell off.”

She should be so lucky.

But he’d been silent for fifteen minutes now.

Gwen eyed the door, knowing that she shouldn’t instigate their little discussion. It would undermine her position as the one in control. No,
he
had to address her in a reasonable tone first.

And it wasn’t long before he said, “ ‘Tisna verra pleasant in here, lass.” He sounded pouty. She smothered a laugh.

“ ‘Tisna verra pleasant”—she imitated his accent—“out here either. Do you realize I’ve stayed up for the past three nights waiting for you to go to the bathroom? I was beginning to think you never did.”

Growl.

She sighed and pressed her hand against the door, as if to soothe him. Or be closer to him. This was the closest they’d been in days, with only a door between them. “I know it’s not very pleasant, but it was the only way I could think of to get you to listen. You escaped your chamber; where else could I trap you?”

“Let me out, and I’ll listen to whatever you wish to say,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

“I’m not falling for that, Drustan,” she said, lowering herself to the stone floor. In a pair of someone’s outgrown trews, she crossed her legs comfortably and leaned her back against the door. She’d been wearing them nightly, with a flowing linen shirt, as she’d clung to the stone arch above the garderobe.

“Plenty o’ cream, as ye like it, Gwen,” Nell said, placing a bowl of porridge, cream, and peaches beside her.

A roar from behind the door. “Are you serving her porridge?”

“ ‘Tis naught of yer concern,” Nell replied calmly.

“I’m sorry, Drustan,” Gwen said soothingly, “but this is all your fault. If even once you had been willing to sit down and drink some coffee or have breakfast with me and talk, I wouldn’t have to be doing this. But time is slipping by and we really need to get some things cleared up. Nell’s leaving now, and it’s going to be just you and me.”

Silence. Stretching, taut.

“What do you want from me, lass?” he finally said wearily.

“What I want is for you to listen. I’m going to tell you everything I can remember about our time together in the future. I’ve thought about it a lot, and there’s got to be something that will make you remember. It’s possible that I’m simply missing whatever it is.”

She heard a huge sigh from behind the door. “Fine, lass. Let’s hear it all this time.”

Drustan sat on the floor of the garderobe, his feet stretched out, arms folded over his chest, his back against the door. He closed his eyes and waited for her to begin. He’d worn himself down raging. Grudgingly, he admired her persistence and resolve. The fit he’d had would have terrified any lass he’d ever known. While he’d raged and flung himself at the door, he pictured her standing outside it, arms folded beneath her lovely breasts, tapping a foot, waiting patiently for him to quiet. Waiting hours—he felt half a day might have passed.

She was formidable.

And by Amergin, a bit too clever to be completely addled.

You know she’s not addled, why doona you admit it?

Because if she’s not addled, she’s telling the truth.

And why does that fash you?

He had no answer for that. He had no idea why the lass turned him into a babbling idiot.

“I’m twenty-five years old,” he heard her say through the door.

“That old?” he mocked. “My bride is but five and ten.” He smiled when she growled.

“That’s called statutory rape in my century,” she said with an edge in her voice.

Statutory
, he mused. Yet another unclear phrase.

“That means you can go to prison for it,” she added.

He snorted. “Why would I care how old you are? Does that have aught to do with your tale?”

“You’re getting the long version with a bit of background. Now, hush.”

Drustan hushed, finding himself curious what she would tell him.

“I took a vacation to Scotland, without knowing it was a senior citizens’ bus tour…”

In time, Drustan relaxed back against the door and listened in silence. He fancied from the sound of her voice that she was seated much the same, back to the door, talking over her shoulder to him.

Which meant, in a way, they were touching, spine to spine. The thought was intimate as he sat in the dark, listening to her voice.

He liked the sound of her voice, he decided. It was low, melodic, firm, and confident. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before? he wondered. That her voice contained a degree of self-assurance that had to have come from somewhere?

Mayhap because whenever she’d spoken to him, he’d been hopelessly distracted by his attraction to her, but now—since he couldn’t see her, his other senses were heightened.

Aye, she had a fine voice, and he’d like to hear her sing an old ballad, he thought, or mayhap a lullaby to his children—

He shook his head and focused on her words, not his idiotic thoughts.

Nell silently handed Gwen yet another mug of coffee and slipped away.

“And we drove up the hill to the stones, but your castle was gone. All that was left was the foundation and a few crumbling walls.”

“What date did I send you through the stones?”

“September twenty-first—you called it Mabon. The autumnal equinox.”