"Oh, damn," she gasped, and tried to turn away from him, but he caught her arms and held her in place.
"There is no shame in grieving the deaths of those you love," Blake said quietly and tried to pull her against his chest, but Seonaid resisted.
"He would have killed me father an' brother, an' you too even," she cried, and the words revealed her confusion. Part of her grieved Allistair's death; the other part was grateful he had died without succeeding at his plan. Was even grateful he was dead so she needn't hate him, a man who had been like a brother to her for years.
"I suppose you are sorry he did not succeed at killing me at least, though I doubt you would have seen your father and brother dead to escape me."
Seonaid's resistance had been weakening and she had slowly been allowing him to urge her against his chest, but now she pulled back with a shocked gasp. "I would ne'er--"
She paused as she spotted the faint twinkle in his eyes. He had been teasing.
"Would you never, Seonaid Dunbar?" he asked, and there was curiosity on his face. "You would not wish me dead?"
Seonaid shook her head and knew it was true. She did not wish this man dead. She didn't wish him ill at all. She wasn't even sure she wished not to marry him. Seonaid had been fleeing him for many reasons, fear, pride, anger ... but mostly out of pride. Pride could be a terrible trial, and she had more than her fair share of it. Being betrothed to the son of a man her father hated had been hard enough to bear, but his tarrying in collecting her had been a shame she'd had to carry as well. The years in between had been confusing ones.
Life didn't appear to be getting any less confusing either, she realized as she became aware that his face was lowering toward hers.
"Seonaid." He whispered her name and she felt his breath on her lips. Her eyes closed, reopened, then almost crossed in an effort to focus on his mouth.
"Aye?"
"I am going to kiss you," he announced.
"Oh," she breathed, and was immediately cast into deeper confusion. He was going to kiss her. She should fight, she supposed, but Seonaid didn't have the energy to do so. She didn't even know if she had the will. She had felt so weary and lost on leaving Giorsal's cottage, and now those sensations were easing somewhat and she felt sure they would ease even more were he to kiss her. Maybe she could even forget for a little bit. She desperately wanted to forget. Seonaid did not suffer loss well, and Allistair's loss was twofold because of the hurtful actions that had apparently led up to it.
Her thoughts were brought to an end as his mouth covered hers. It was incredibly soft. He looked a terribly hard man--even his lips could form a straight line that appeared ungiving--but it felt soft, and he tasted as sweet as plum wine as his lips moved over her own. Seonaid's hopes that he could distract her from her thoughts were realized immediately. All she was aware of was the pressure of his mouth on hers, and the way his hands now moved up and down her arms, then slid around her back. His tongue slid between her lips and Seonaid released a small moan of pleasure as he invaded her, filling her mouth with the taste of him. All her senses seemed overwhelmed by him; his scent--one she had grown used to while riding with him--filled her nose, his taste was on her tongue, and she felt him everywhere their bodies met.
For the first time in her life, Seonaid felt completely and utterly female and didn't mind. She had always thought of women as soft and weak, but in Blake's arms, while she felt feminine, she also felt excited and powerful. She could have stayed happily locked in his embrace forever, and couldn't restrain a moan of disappointment when he broke the kiss and eased away to peer down at her.
"I am sorry about your cousin, but Allistair's death is not your fault."
Seonaid stared at him blankly, her mind slow to adjust. Allistair. Dead. His plans to kill her father and brother, marry her, and become laird. His betrayal. His death. Her fault? Had she felt guilty? Aye, she had. She hadn't had a clue that Allistair's feelings for her had gone beyond cousinly love. Certainly he had teased her and complimented her at times, and Seonaid had sensed that there was something. But ...
But she was lying to herself, she realized. Aye, she'd known. She'd known his feelings for her had been stronger than they should be as cousin, but his attention had flattered her, and eased some of the pain Blake's neglect had caused. She had known and now admitted that she had even gently encouraged it. Seonaid had basked in his attention, using it as a balm to soothe her hurt pride. She'd told herself that Blake might not think enough to even bother to claim her, but Allistair thought she was brave and smart and beautiful. She hadn't felt the same in return, but she had encouraged him and unknowingly encouraged his traitorous intentions, aiding him in his downfall, and very nearly abetting the death of her own father and brother. And she was ashamed of herself, and mad as hell. But she wasn't just mad at herself. Blake deserved some of the blame. Had he come to claim her when she was sixteen as most men would have ...
"Seoanid?" Blake was watching her face closely and concern now filled his features. "What are you thinking?"
Pressing her mouth closed to keep from speaking all the thoughts whirling in her mind, Seonaid shook her head and pulled away. He tried to catch her back, but she was in no mood to deal with him now. She was terrified she would start to yell at him for what she saw as his part in this ordeal. And she would cut out her own tongue and swallow it before she would allow this man to know how much his failing to collect her had hurt.
Evading his hands, Seonaid slid past him and broke into a run for the keep. She gave the effort all she had, stretching her muscles and pumping her hands to use up some of her anger. It worked somewhat, although it wasn't a great distance from the cottage to the keep, so perhaps her exhaustion as she mounted the stairs had something to do with the collection of emotions she had suffered in such a short time: shock, fear, grief, anger, and betrayal, even passion. After the strenuous ups and downs of the last few days it was all too much. Seonaid felt about a hundred years old as she dragged herself up the stairs and entered the keep, far too tired to deal with Lord Rolfe, whose voice was sounding extremely agitated as it reached her ears.
Chapter Nine
"What do you mean, the laird is unavailable? Is he all right?"
Seonaid let the door close behind her and eyed the bishop and Lord Rolfe. The prelate simply looked weary, but Rolfe looked frustrated as he questioned young Willie. It made Seonaid suspect that the lad wasn't being forthcoming with his answers. But then, she supposed he wouldn't be. Lord Rolfe was English. Scottish children were taught from birth to hate the English.
"I asked you a question, lad, and would appreciate an answer."
Seonaid sighed wearily and started across the hall. "Father was wounded in the siege. He's restin'; let him rest."
"Wounded?" Rolfe turned to her with a combination of relief and alarm. Relief at finally getting his questions answered, she supposed. Alarm at the news he was hearing. "Is he all right?"
"Aye. He took an arrow in the shoulder. Iliana tended it. He's recoverin'."
"Oh." He relaxed somewhat. "Well, what about Duncan, then?"
Seonaid arched an eyebrow in Willie's direction.
"He's restin' too," the lad said. "With Lady Iliana."
"Resting with ... oh." Rolfe scowled, but Seonaid smiled. She was glad her brother and his wife were all right. It also sounded as if they were getting along well, which made her happy. She liked Iliana.
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"Well, perhaps we could speak to Lady Wildwood then, Iliana's mother."
"She's restin'," Willie repeated.
The bishop seemed to lose some of his sleepy air at this news. "She was not injured too, was she?"
"Nay. She's restin' with the laird," the boy explained with a grin that made Seonaid's eyes widen. Her father and Lady Wildwood? Resting? Together? The very idea stunned her. What had been going on while she was gone? If she was surprised, Lord Rolfe was positively horrified.
"What?" he exclaimed. "Well, tell them we must speak with them at once. We--"
"Let them rest," Seonaid chided, continuing across the hall toward the stairs. "It's been a tryin' time for all. Surely ye could use some rest too after our journey?"
"Lady Seonaid is right," Bishop Wykeham murmured. "It's been a long journey. Surely the morrow is soon enough to find out what went on here and who attacked the castle."
Seonaid stopped walking, her eyes fixing on Willie. It would seem the men hadn't got much information out of the lad if they didn't even know who had attacked. Either they'd asked the wrong questions or the boy was being difficult on principle alone. She suspected it was the latter but couldn't find it in her to be angry with him. They were English, after all.
"Greenweld sent a message claimin' I'd been kidnaped by the Colquhouns," Seonaid explained. "Duncan took most of the men and rode out to fetch me back. The moment he was gone, Greenweld attacked the keep and laid siege. Father was hit by an arrow and unable to lead those left behind. Iliana took his place and managed to hold the castle until Duncan returned." Seonaid glanced at Willie. "Is that no right?"
"Aye." He nodded and grinned.
"What happened to Greenweld?" Lord Rolfe asked.
"Dead," the boy said succinctly and with obvious pleasure.
"His men?" the bishop asked.
"Some fled, some are dead, and some are in the dungeons."
"Well." Lord Rolfe and the bishop exchanged glances and seemed to be at a loss as to what to say or do.
"Sleep, gentlemen," Seonaid said and started toward the stairs again. She had heard enough. Greenweld was dead, Allistair was dead, her father wounded, and Dunbar battered but not beaten. Anything else she could learn on the morrow. Despite her rest during the ride, she was so weary she could barely lift her feet to take the stairs. "Find one o' the women to show them where to sleep," she added to Willie as she slowly trudged up the stairs, leaving it to the boy to handle. For all she cared at that moment, they could sleep on the rushes on the great hall floor.