The Ghost Read online

  Desire flooded her senses. Her mind was spinning in a thousand different directions. She had to stop it. “Is that what this is about?” She moved her hips against him in a way that could not be misinterpreted. She hadn’t counted on having it affect her, however, and the shock of sensation nearly made her knees buckle. Somehow she managed to remember she was trying to get rid of him. “Haven’t you heard? You do not need to court me to bed me. If that’s what it will take to be rid of you, why don’t we just get it over and be done with it? If your room is not convenient, I’m sure we can find an alcove somewhere.”

  The possessive flare of anger at the mention of the alcove he’d seen her slip out of with Despenser was so intense it took Alex a moment to realize that she was baiting him. It took an even longer moment for the haze of lust to clear. The feel of her hips circling against him set off dark, primitive instincts he didn’t even know he possessed. He could imagine what it would be like to be inside her, and he wanted it so badly he thought he would go mad.

  Why was she doing this, damn it? The reason flickered in her eyes. She is scared, he realized. Lashing out like a cornered animal. Trying to shock, anger, and disgust him into forgetting about her.

  What she didn’t understand was that it was already too late for that. He could no sooner forget about her than he could forget to breathe. She was his and had been since the moment he’d felt her lips under his. He hadn’t realized how certain he was of that until this very moment, and nothing she could do or say would change it. But she was trying, that much was obvious. What he didn’t know was why.

  He shook her arm, forcing her gaze to his. “Why are you talking like this? This is not you.”

  The seductive mask slipped from her face, revealing just a hint of the torment underneath. She was so good at hiding her emotions that the fierceness of what he saw—if only for a moment—took him aback.

  By the time she looked away, however, her voice was dull and devoid of feeling. “You don’t know me, Alex. You don’t know anything about me.”

  He tipped her chin, forcing her eyes to his. Wide set and seductively tilted, they were so blue he thought he might be content to drown in them forever. Christ, what was happening to him? This young girl had him utterly bewitched.

  “But I think I do,” he said, tilting her face to his. “Much more than you want me to.”

  Her mouth was too close, her lips too inviting, her eyes too full of longing. It was pure instinct to lower his mouth to hers and press her lips in a soft, tender kiss. The fact that it was the middle of the day, that anyone could walk by and see, that his honor had obviously gone to shite, didn’t seem to matter. It was as natural as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening. As summer turning to fall and winter turning to spring. Nothing could hold it back—or turn it back.

  Her lips were so impossibly soft and sweet he ached to taste her deeper. To slide his tongue into her mouth and possess her fully. To force her to acknowledge the force of the passion that burned between them.

  But what was between them was more than passion—much more—and the tender, soft brush of his lips over hers, the gentle presses that lingered just long enough to elicit an ache in his chest and sharp yearning for more, proved it.

  When she circled her hands around his neck and dissolved against him, surrendering with a sigh of contentment that seemed wrenched from the deepest part of her—the part that couldn’t deny the bond between them any more than he could—Alex knew he’d won.

  He lifted his head, keeping his fingers on her chin so she could not look away. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that this doesn’t mean something to you.”

  She tried to tear her gaze away, but he could see the sheen of tears dampening her lashes. “It doesn’t.”

  “Liar,” he replied angrily. “Why are you fighting this so hard? Why do you wish me to think the worst of you? Why are you pretending—?”

  She wrenched away, pushing him back with a hard shove fortified by what he thought might be panic. “I’m pretending nothing. Dear God, what must I say to get through to you? Or do you always force yourself upon women who have made it clear that they are not willing?”

  She might have slapped his face. The silence that echoed afterward was the same.

  It was an unfair accusation to make. They both knew that. But it did not dull the impact or lessen the offense to his honor. He felt the blow to his chest like a swing from a war hammer. It left him cold and stunned, with a dull, hollow ache in his chest.

  He had never forced her, and she had never been unwilling. But as he stood there, staring into her wild, tear-glistened eyes, he also knew there was some truth to her words. She might want him physically—and she might even feel something more—but she didn’t want anything to do with him. Did it really matter what her reasons were? They were her reasons, and as a knight—as a man who tried to live with honor—shouldn’t he show her the same and respect them?

  Every instinct in his body clamored to say no. To pull her into his arms and kiss her until she surrendered to the maddening storm of emotion that had possessed him since the moment she’d fallen into his arms. He could make her his. He could make it so that she could never deny him. He didn’t need experience to know that he could make her pant and beg and scream his name over and over in mindless orgasmic oblivion.

  And just how badly he wanted to do that frightened him. He had seen men—brothers, friends—die on the battlefield, seen horrors that no human should be forced to witness, faced overwhelming odds and what should be certain death, faced ten of the best warriors in Christendom as a traitor, and never before had he felt fear like he did now. Because he knew just how close he was to losing himself—or the part of himself that he’d fought so hard to hold on to. The part of himself that had caused him to turn on his friends. The part that always just tried to do what was right.

  He was becoming the very barbarian he’d feared.

  Her face went white, as if she was shocked by what she said. “Alex, wait. I didn’t mean—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “No, you are right. You have made your feelings quite clear. I will not seek to change your mind again. But if you change yours, you know where to find me—for a couple of weeks at least. After that . . .” He shrugged. It didn’t really matter. Whether he came back from war or not, he knew she would not be waiting for him.

  She looked stricken, as if the idea of him not returning had never occurred to her.

  He didn’t wait to hear her reply. With a short, stiff bow of his head, he handed her back her bundle and left.

  12

  HE WON’T DIE, Joan told herself. Alex Seton was one of the best warriors in Christendom, handpicked for Bruce’s elite fighting force, even if he was now fighting for the enemy. It was inconceivable that he wouldn’t survive the looming battle.

  But deep inside she knew it was true: there were no guarantees in war. Even the best weren’t invincible. Hadn’t William “Templar” Gordon’s death proved that? Joan hadn’t known the young member of the Guard who’d died a few years ago, but she’d heard so much of him from Lachlan she felt as if she did.

  Being the “best” also hadn’t helped Alex’s brother. Sir Christopher Seton was one of the greatest knights on either side of the border and reputed to be the third best in Christendom (behind his liege lord Robert Bruce, and Giles d’Argentan, the Frenchman who fought for the English). Yet Sir Christopher had been captured by his own countryman, the chief of the MacNabs, at Loch Doon Castle and executed at the start of the war.

  The cold clamminess on her forehead spread over the rest of her skin in a sickly pale. She covered her stomach with her hands as if she could somehow steady the sway. Her entire body was in revolt—in panic—at the thought of never seeing him again. But what else could she do? What other choice did she have? She couldn’t risk what she was doing, and any kind of relationship with Alex would surely do that. She’d finally done what she wanted and gotten rid of him.

  B