The Recruit Read online

  “I’m sorry I didn’t take you to the church. Did you discover anything about your sister?”

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with sadness. She repeated what the abbess had told her. “It doesn’t make sense. How could Brother Thomas have made such a mistake? I only hope he will return soon so that I may ask him. He went somewhere with the Bishop of St. Andrews.”

  Lamberton? Kenneth hid his reaction to the mention of Bruce’s former ally, but his senses pricked. Agreeing that it was odd, he said, “If you’d like, I can make some inquiries.”

  Her expression stopped his breath. For the first time, he knew what it would feel like to have her admiration. It was as if he’d just plucked a star from the sky and handed it to her. He’d been the recipient of such looks countless times before, but all of them together had never meant as much as this one did. It felt earned.

  “You would do that for me?”

  He suspected there was very little he wouldn’t do for her. “I still have some contacts in Scotland that may prove helpful.” Contacts was an understatement.

  He watched her reaction, but saw only concern, not suspicion.

  “You won’t do anything that would put you in danger?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. Every day he stayed here he was in danger. “I will be careful.”

  “Then thank you, I would be very grateful if you would try.”

  Her eyes shone, and something tightened in his chest. He felt a nearly overwhelming urge to take her in his arms. But he doubted his ability to touch her and not give in to the urges that had been plaguing him for thirty-seven blasted days. Though who was counting?

  He nodded, breaking the connection. “You must be tired and wish to ready for bed.”

  Her face fell. “You are leaving? But I thought …”

  The disappointment in her voice tugged at him. Damn it, didn’t she know how hard this was? His fists clenched at his sides, fighting the primitive instincts that seemed to take over every inch of his body when he was in the same room with her. After a fight, it was even worse. His blood was pumping even hotter. “You thought what, damn it? The last thirty-seven days to the contrary, I am not a bloody monk, Mary. I want you so badly, I can’t see straight.”

  Her eyes widened. She gasped. “You do?”

  “What did you think? That I would lie beside you every night and not want to make love to you?”

  “You know exactly what I thought. I thought you were exhausted from being with another woman.”

  “I don’t want another woman.”

  It was the truth. And tonight after seeing her almost fall, he would finally admit what had been staring him in the face but his pride wouldn’t let him acknowledge: he loved her. She was going to hate him when she learned the truth, but he loved her in a way that he’d never thought possible. Apparently, he was just as susceptible to emotion as everyone else. It had only taken the right woman.

  She’d been different from the start. It wasn’t just because she hadn’t fallen at his feet—although he could admit that might have been part of it initially—but she challenged him, intrigued him, didn’t seem to be interested in his accomplishments but in him.

  He didn’t even mind when they argued. Actually, he kind of liked it. He could lose his temper around her and not feel like a bully—she just gave it right back to him. It was strangely freeing—invigorating even.

  For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the need to impress, the need to be the best. But he wanted her to believe in him. He wanted her trust, even if he didn’t deserve it.

  If he weren’t so tormented, he might have enjoyed the look of disbelief on her face. “You don’t?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t been with another woman since I met you.”

  It was clear she didn’t believe him. “What about the woman in the stables?”

  He wanted to tell her it was his sister, but how could he explain? He couldn’t. “It wasn’t how it looked.” Unable to resist, he reached down and smoothed the back of his finger along her cheek. Her skin was so soft it made his chest squeeze. Hell, everything about her made his chest squeeze. One look at those big blue-green eyes, those delicate features, the lush pink lips and baby-soft skin, and he was so filled with emotion there wasn’t enough air left in his lungs to breathe. “I only want you, Mary.”

  Mary’s heart was pounding so hard and loud she could barely hear. Had she really heard him correctly? Part of her said to leave it, that “I only want you” was enough for now. To take the morsel that he’d given her and be happy. The other part—the cautious part—knew it wasn’t. “For how long?”

  He was holding himself so still, only the burning intensity in his eyes as he looked at her betrayed the fierceness of the emotions battling inside him. He knew what she was asking him. She wanted commitment. Fidelity. A promise.

  He didn’t hesitate. “For as long as you want me.”

  She stilled, everything inside her coming to a sudden stop. Her heart seemed to be hanging on the edge of a precipice, ready to tumble over at the barest nudge. “What if that is forever?”

  He gave her a wry smile that tugged at every string in her heart. “Then you’ll make me a very happy man.” He tipped her chin so she would meet his gaze. “If you haven’t guessed, I’m in love with you.”

  Mary’s breath caught high in her throat, hearing the words she thought would never be meant for her. She was stunned, awed, and full of disbelief at the same time. It seemed impossible that this could be happening. She’d thought her chance for happiness was behind her. That any hope of the love she’d once dreamed of as a girl was gone. But here was this incredible man telling her he loved her.

  If she listened to the voice of experience, she had every reason not to believe him. He was every bit as handsome, every bit as magnificent, every bit as popular with the women as Atholl had been. But he wasn’t Atholl. And this wasn’t the past. If she listened to her heart, and judged him on himself, she knew it was true. From the first, he’d always treated her differently. She’d recognized it, but hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  She slid her hands around his neck and raised up on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss on his mouth. Their eyes met, and what she saw there gave her courage. She spoke the words that fear had kept at bay. “I love you, too.”

  It was as if a dam had burst and all the emotion, all the feelings, that had been held back between them came rushing out in a torrential wave.

  He groaned, wrapped his arms around her, and covered her mouth with his.

  He kissed her. God, did he kiss her! He kissed her until her knees were weak and her heart wanted to weep with joy. The warm slide of his tongue sent ripples of emotion fluttering through her heart.

  But perhaps “kiss” was far too ordinary a way to describe the perfection of his mouth moving over hers, of the gentle stroke of his tongue, of the aching tenderness of emotion he elicited with each deft caress. He didn’t just kiss, he devastated.

  It was incredible. The warm, soft heat of his mouth on hers. The dark, spicy taste of him. The smooth stroke of his tongue, delving … coaxing … entreating.

  There had never been any doubt of her husband’s expertise in matters of lovemaking. He knew just what to do to make a woman weak with pleasure. The skilled movements of his lips and tongue could rouse her passion in an instant.

  But this was different. This wasn’t just about passion. The soft caress of his mouth over hers, the heart-tugging strokes of his tongue, were gentle and sweet, tender and inquisitive. Not a plunder but a promise. A bond. A vow.

  This wasn’t just a kiss intended to make her body hot and needy; he seduced her heart and soul as well. It was everything she’d fought against. Everything she’d struggled to deny but had been between them from the first. Not just passion but emotion. A deeper connection. A joining not just of bodies but of souls. Finally, she let herself accept all the tenderness he’d been trying to give her that she’d tried for so long not to w