Chapter 4
He never did takeLeanna’s much-too-obvious invitation and visit her chamber…although Kenneth found himself regretting it over the next few days.
Having been given a space in the barracks with the other warriors by Doughall, the commander, he did his best to fit in. But whenever he happened to see Leanna—or when she sought him out, which was often the case—his body was reminded of that invitation, and exactly how good she’d felt pressed against him.
Good? Nay, perfect.
Her smiles, her teasing, her laughter…all made him feel perfect. It wasn’t just that she was a beautiful woman, who obviously found him attractive, it was that she made him feel as if…as if…
Seeing her made him feel as if he’d come home.
And, of course, her mouth made him think of sin.
Judging from the sounds in the barracks, he wasn’t the only man who took himself in hand at night, imagining the feel of a woman’s mouth.
But it was during the day, when he saw her smile—and that dimple!—that he thought of the future. He’d already decided to find a wife and get on with the begetting, and here was a lass who made him think of little else. But she was the daughter of a man who might’ve ordered McIlvain killed.
Was she the daughter of his enemy?
Three days of searching, and Kenneth still wasn’t certain. He hadn’t found any sign that his fellow Hunter had arrived at Oliphant Castle, much less that the laird had met with him. There was nothing to lead Kenneth to believe that McIlvain viewed the Oliphant as a danger, except for that cryptic message.
Beware the Oliphants.
It was frustrating as hell. He trusted his fellow Hunter, but Kenneth had found no evidence himself to believe McIlvain had even made it here. So who was he to believe? The message, or his own experiences?
He needed to get inside the castle.
Oh, in the last few days, he’d been inside the great hall for meals, and of course down to the sickroom to visit with Brodie. The unfortunate man was still heavily drugged, which the healer sister claimed was the best way to let him heal. And the day after his arrival on Oliphant land, Kenneth had ridden out with Doughall, and the warriors he shared the barracks with, to wreak havoc on the bandits who had done this to Brodie.
Aye, his bodyguard was now avenged, but Nicola couldn’t tell them if he’d ever walk again, the poor bastard.
So, aye, he’d been inside the castle. In fact, since his battle at Doughall’s side, he’d even been accepted. But he didn’t yet have the freedom to roam Oliphant Castle, which is what he needed to do. He needed to find some sign McIlvain had been here.
And luckily, he had the perfect accomplice.
“Fooking hell, man!”
The call jerked Kenneth’s attention back to the present, where he was sparring with Doughall, a bloody clot-heided time to become distracted. Breathing heavily, he raised his sword and backed away.
“My apologies,” he panted. “I was…distracted.”
“Aye, ye were,” growled the other—larger—man, as he wiped a hairy forearm across his brow. “Ye nearly took my ear off.”
Kenneth’s lips twitched. “I was just testing yer reflexes.”
“The hell ye were!” The commander lowered his sword as he shook his head, breathing as heavily as Kenneth. “Ye forgot we were sparring and decided to try to kill me, aye? Have I offended ye?”
Truthfully, thanks to his training with the Hunters, Kenneth was fairly certain he could take Doughall, any of the Oliphant warriors, one-handedly. That said, the big man was skilled, and he had given Kenneth a satisfactory sparring session, at least up until Kenneth’s mind had become too engrossed in his current conundrum.
So he sent the other man an easy grin. “Nay, I doubt I could kill ye face-to-face like this. I’d have to poison yer porridge or something.”
The other man paused a moment, as if trying to decide if Kenneth was being serious, then threw back his head and laughed. “Poison is a coward’s weapon. But I’ll take the compliment and return it.” He punched Kenneth’s shoulder, then focused on sheathing his sword. “Will ye be telling me what—or who—had ye so distracted?”
Kenneth hummed as he busied himself with his own blade, as all around them, the sounds of warriors sparring filled the air. “Nay, I dinnae think I will.”
Chuckling, Doughall gestured him toward the bales of hay which marked their sparring grounds. “Then ‘tis a woman, clearly. As long as she’s no’ too young for ye.”
The chastisement was blatant, and Kenneth’s hackles rose in defense. He was not too old! “What is yer meaning?”