The Recruit Read online

  She had to apologize for what had happened this morning. A blush stained her cheeks. Well, maybe an apology wasn’t necessary in light of how much he’d enjoyed it, but she knew things could not go on as they had been. She wanted to give him—them—a chance.

  The Hall was a flurry of sound and color as she entered. Obviously, the ale and wine had been flowing freely for some time. People were swarming about the room. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see where Kenneth was seated but was unable to see over all the heads.

  Finally, after fighting her way through the crowd near the door she saw him. The smile that had become reflexive in such a short time rose and then fell. The blood drained from her face, as everything inside her body seemed to curl inwardly. Her heart. Her stomach. Her hope.

  The sear of white-hot pain across her chest was nearly unimaginable.

  He was surrounded by women and basking in the glow of their adoring light, like some Greek god at a temple. The women on either side of him were leaning so close their bodies were pressing against his. He wasn’t doing anything to encourage them. Yet. But it was only a matter of time. He’d made her no promises. The picture before her was brutally familiar and a reminder that she could not forget that. No matter how much she wanted to. If she’d wanted her eyes opened, they were now.

  Oh God. I can’t do this again.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  In a daze, Mary turned, seeing that Sir John had come up beside her. “You look quite pale.”

  “I’m not feeling too well. I-I think I shall return to my room.”

  She could see the concern in his face. “I will escort you.”

  Mary nodded, too numb to object.

  Twenty

  It had been bad enough to learn that his wife had left the castle without telling him and sought out Sir Adam’s assistance rather than his for her errand. Kenneth was irritated, and yes, maybe even a little jealous. But it was nothing compared to the dangerous emotion that surged through him when he heard who’d escorted her back to her room.

  “Felton? You are sure?”

  Lady Eleanor gazed up at him in surprise. “Yes, perhaps an hour ago. I thought that you knew.”

  He’d been trying to have a good time. Trying to bury his irritation with his wife in the celebratory atmosphere around him. But as the hours dragged on, and she still had not appeared, irritation had turned to worry, and finally he’d sought out one of her attendants.

  Kenneth tried to hide his reaction, but he suspected he wasn’t all that successful. “I did not.”

  “She was standing right there.” Lady Eleanor pointed to a place a few tables away. “It was fortunate Sir John was there, my lord. I thought she was going to faint for a minute. She did not look well.”

  Kenneth felt his stomach drop. Dear God, was it the babe?

  Sensing his reaction, Lady Eleanor hastened to explain. “I’m sure it’s nothing for you to worry about. A stomach upset, Sir John said. That is all.”

  But Kenneth wasn’t listening; he was already making his way from the Hall.

  Had something happened? His mind raced with all the mishaps that could occur to a woman with child. Damn it, why hadn’t she told him? He would never have let her go to town on her own.

  By the time he reached the tower chamber, he was nearly out of his mind with an emotion he didn’t recognize. Panic? Fear? The way his heart was racing, it could very well be both.

  He threw open the door, “Are you all ri—”

  He stopped, seeing her standing by the window, her figure backlit by the setting sun. She turned as he entered, her face a mask of serene composure. Serenity and composure that made his own panic and fear fall flat on the floor.

  He didn’t need to finish his question. It was clear that his distress had been for naught; she was perfectly fine.

  “You are back early.”

  There was something in her voice—a hint of sarcasm—that didn’t sit well with him.

  “And you are not. What were you thinking to leave the castle without telling me?”

  She arched a delicate brow. “I did not realize I needed your permission.”

  The cold challenge in her eyes was back. But he was too angry himself to heed the warning. “Well, you do. You will not leave this castle again—you will not go anywhere—without telling me.” He crossed the room in a few strides. Wanting to ruffle that composure of hers, he took her arm and brought her up to him. “Do you hear me, Mary?”

  But she would not be rattled. None of his heat could melt the ice that seemed to have formed a shell around her. “I hear you perfectly well, since you are shouting in my ear.”

  Her very calmness infuriated him. It was everything he was not. He wanted to make her as angry as he was. It was nearly inconceivable that he could be this passionate about a woman and she could be so … not. “And stay away from Felton. Need I remind you that you are a married woman?”

  Her eyes snapped to his, the first crack in her composure. “And you are a married man. But we all know how little that means to you.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing—”

  “I saw you at the feast. It must have been interesting—whatever you were talking about—you had quite an audience and seemed enthralled.”

  He’d been worried about her, but hell if he’d tell her that. Not when she thought him so … shallow. But he felt a surprising twinge of guilt. His pride had been stinging. He hadn’t gone to the feast with the intention of seeking out more appreciative company, but he hadn’t exactly pushed the women away, either. It was effortless. They were effortless.

  And she wasn’t.

  It had been a mistake. He could see that now. He knew how sensitive she was about Atholl, but damn it, she had unrealistic expectations. What man in his right mind would want to bind himself to one woman for life?

  He thought of MacLeod. MacSorley. Campbell. MacKay. His brother. Hell, even Lachlan MacRuairi. All men he respected and were sure as hell in their right mind.

  But he wasn’t like them. He didn’t confuse duty with emotion. She was just his wife, damn it.

  It had to be anger making his chest feel so damned tight.

  But any apology he might have made was silenced by her next words. “Is the game over, my lord? Is that it? Have you grown weary of playing the doting husband? Or perhaps I am not adoring enough or whispering enough platitudes in your ear?”

  His mouth thinned. “Not all women are as hard to impress as you, my lady.”

  “I think you confuse flattery with respect.”

  He stiffened. It was clear he didn’t have hers. Why the hell did it bother him? He shouldn’t care. “I thought you didn’t care what I do.”

  She stiffened, pulling her arm away as if his touch scalded. “I don’t.”

  Heat was pounding through his bones. “Then stop acting as if you want more.”

  She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”

  He heard her challenge but was too angry to take it up—or make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. All he could do was stare at her, seething, his jaw clenching as tightly as his fist. “What the hell do you want, Mary?”

  Their eyes held. He felt something tighten, almost as if a winch was drawing them together. He thought she felt it too, but then she looked stiffly away. “Nothing more than you promised,” she said. “Of course, your ‘duties’ will not be required for some time.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? I warned you I would not be kept from my wife’s bed.”

  “Have you forgotten? Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. It is a sin to copulate during Lent.”

  Kenneth saw red. He knew what she was doing. He knew it wasn’t piety but merely an excuse to keep him from her bed. Hell, the church considered it a sin to enjoy pleasure or passion in the marital bed at all!

  But he was too damned angry to care. If that was the way she wanted it, he would do this her way. God knows,