The Thistle and the Rose Page 12

  “But what can be holding up Father William?” Celia asked impatiently.

  “I do not know, lass,” the knight said gravely. “I do think it's time we sent a message to him. As far as we know, he's still at the abbey by Argyll's castle. I suspect he is just waiting for Argyll to get back, and that's why we haven't heard anything. Argyll should have heard about the attack on Caithness Hall by now. He'll be looking for us to arrive. It's just a matter of time.”

  “So we just wait?”

  “No, I'll send the message today. We'll know in a day or two what is detaining Dunbar. We'll stay that long, at least.”

  Celia watched in solitude as the sky above the white-capped sea grew gray. Standing by the window, she could feel the spring chill once again descend upon the castle. The rain would begin again soon, she thought, raw and sharp and penetrating.

  In spite of all that she and Edmund had talked about, in spite of all common sense, in spite of all impending danger, Celia wanted to stay. In her heart of hearts, there was nothing she wanted more. What had been occurring since Colin's arrival was so incredibly new to her, so wonderfully surprising, that Celia still hadn't even had time to sort it out.

  And now, she almost didn't want to. More than anything else, she was afraid to.

  I have Kit to focus on, Celia thought. There's nothing else that I can put before that. Even Colin Campbell.

  Colin Campbell.

  Oh, God. Why now? Celia thought. Why did they have to meet this way? Why right now? Six years at court, never once feeling at home. Never once even tempted to care for someone. Never once in control of her destiny. A destiny controlled by others. Enforced by kings.

  The inevitable impossibility of their situation settled upon her, damp and cold and painful.

  By the time darkness fell, the cold rain had begun in earnest.

  Despite the wet chill without and her own gloom within, Celia chose a soft, white cotton dress. She wanted to feel comfortable and at home. Just a pretense, she knew, but Celia wanted to somehow dispel, or at least ignore, the heavy gray shadow that loomed above her.

  When a man carrying turf and wood and one of the serving women had come in to light the fire, Celia had suddenly felt self-conscious of the low-cut front of the dress. But they came and went without any indication of impropriety in her attire, and Kit had then easily captured her attention.

  A short time later, sitting on the great bed with Kit, Celia was laughing out loud at the baby's antics. She had never imagined how much fun a seven-month-old could be. Kit had just finished pulling himself up to a rather wobbly standing position, a fist full of Celia's hair in each hand, and had now begun to jump up and down with the bubbling joyous laughter only an infant can make.

  Celia loved these moments. It was at times like this that she felt so connected with Kit. Lady Caithness be damned, it was at times like this that she felt she could be a real mother.

  Ellen had gone downstairs to get dinner for them both. Celia had suggested going to the kitchens herself, but Ellen had jumped at the chance of going. When Celia had slyly mentioned that perhaps Ellen could check on Runt's condition while she was downstairs, the blush that had arisen in Ellen's fair skin had confirmed her suspicions.

  Celia had sensed the attraction between the two. She was glad, for she knew Runt would take care of Ellen. But more importantly, Celia had seen a new liveliness in Ellen that she hadn't seen before. And the security that the Campbells could offer was what Ellen needed in her life.

  But Celia knew her too well. Ellen would never back out on their plans now. Once they were safe at Argyll, though, she could talk Ellen into returning to Runt. That was the least she could do for her. When the time was right, Celia decided, she would speak to Colin about it.

  Kit had been mouthing Celia's face, planting the sloppiest of kisses, and was now using her chin as a teething toy, when the knock at the door forced her to break off the play. Putting the baby on her hip, and laughing as she attempted to wipe off her wet face, Celia opened the door for Ellen.

  “I think you're right about weaning Kit,” she said, pulling open the door as Kit grabbed at the neckline of her dress front. “He's definitely st...”

  The huge figure leaning in the doorway was not Ellen. Behind Colin, one of the kitchen workers stood with a platter of food. Celia's questioning eyes traveled from the food back to Colin's relaxed stance and up to his handsome face. Damn it, he was doing it to her again. The way he looked at her made her heart race. His wild mane of thick black hair, his clean-shaven bronze face, the shimmering gleam of his gray eyes, the broad muscular frame that strained at the confines of his clothing...

  “I never did feed you properly, this afternoon,” Colin said wryly.

  It was good that he had prepared that line in advance. Eyeing the beauty before him, Colin's mind emptied of every thought but one. How could a dress so innocently plain, so stylistically simple, be so sensually provocative, so exquisitely commanding on this woman standing in the open doorway.

  “Where's Ellen?” Celia said pointedly, shaking the giant out of his silent reverie.

  “Are you going to let us in, or should we eat out here in the hallway?” Colin said, recovering quickly.

  Without waiting for an answer, Colin stepped across the threshold and put out both hands to the baby. Kit paused for only the briefest of moments, then dived forward into the warrior's outstretched arms. Celia was so stunned at the response that she hadn't time to restrain the move gracefully. She released the baby's legs, and Colin brought him snugly to his chest.

  The warrior moved to the newly replaced chair before the fire and sat down, bouncing the delighted Kit on his knee. Colin was as stunned as Celia at the bairn's open acceptance of him—happily stunned.

  “Jean,” Colin said without looking up from the child. “Put the food on the bed and bring the good chair and a bench from my room.”

  Celia just stood there watching Colin and the babbling Kit, as Jean did as he was told. A moment later, after spreading the food on the bench, Jean left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “So, they are going to stop feeding you, hmmm, my little man?” Colin asked, briefly casting his eye on Celia's low-cut dress. “Do not tell me you bit something you weren't supposed to bite? Let me tell you something, man to man. Women are so sensitive about the silliest things.”

  “Give me that child, Colin Campbell,” Celia said, marching in his direction. “I'm not going to stand by while you corrupt this child with your ridiculous male...”

  But Colin was up from his chair in a flash, the quick movement drawing squeals of laughter from the baby. “This might be my only chance to corrupt anybody,” Colin retorted, shielding the child with his body from Celia.

  “Colin, you give that baby to me right now,” Celia demanded. “You are scaring him.”

  Colin held the red-haired, gray-eyed, laughing baby high in the air, then lowered him, nuzzling Kit's little button nose with his own. Kit reached up and tried to grab the giant's twinkling gray eyes. “Aye, he is a timid little thing. Just like his mother.”

  Hearing that, Celia snatched Kit out of Colin's hands and held the squirming infant tight to her breast.

  “Colin, I asked you where Ellen is. What are you doing here?”

  Colin ignored the questions and began to serve up portions of the dinner from the platter. “Come and sit down and I'll feed you. You haven't eaten much today, have you?”

  “If my memory serves me, sir,” Celia responded, moving closer to him. “You are not to be trusted.”

  “Celia...Celia...” Colin protested comically, his face projecting the most pathetic anguish. “You cut me deeply. Besides, what have you got to worry about? Your little warrior there will protect you.”

  “I want you to know, Lord Colin, Kit comes from a very distinguished line of warriors,” Celia said, giving her attention to the squirming bundle in her arms.

  “As distinguished as a quarter-blood English Lowlander can ge
t,” Colin cracked, adding directly to the baby, “No offense, little fellow.”

  “You may bend your knee to him yet, you pompous, piratical peacock.”

  “Celia,” Colin said, taking hold of her shoulders and pushing her gently into the chair. “Sit.”

  Before Celia could shift Kit into position where she'd have a free hand to eat with, Colin began to feed her.

  “Colin Campbell, I'm not a baby that needs to be fed,” she said, her mouth full.

  “It seems to me that you're going to need both hands free.” He grinned, nodding toward the baby who was busily, and successfully, undoing the laces that held the bodice of her dress together. “Not that I mind, particularly.”

  “Kit!” Celia scolded, wrestling with the determined infant.

  “Can I help you?” Colin asked innocently, enjoying her losing battle.

  “Aye, you can,” she answered. “It's about time you did something productive.”

  As she held Kit at arms length, Colin reached around the child and took hold of the laces himself.

  “COLIN CAMPBELL!” she shouted, clutching the baby defensively to her chest, and slapping his busily successful hands away. “You're worse than he is!”

  Colin laughed heartily, and Celia could not help herself from joining in, though hurriedly tightening the undone laces.

  It flashed through Colin's mind that he loved this sense of companionship. He had come up to Celia's room to talk to her about the attack that morning and about the abbey by Argyll's castle. But that whole business now seemed somewhat less important. Never had Colin Campbell been one to put his own pleasure before business, but never had he enjoyed being with a woman as much as he did Celia. There was a freshness about her responses to his attentions...almost a naiveté.

  “I knew it wouldn't be safe to eat with you,” Celia scolded, pretending to be angry. “Give me that spoon.”

  Snatching it from his hand, Celia gave it to Kit, who immediately jammed the utensil into his mouth and contentedly gnawed away at it.

  “I really would like to know how you bribed Ellen into letting you bring up the dinner.”

  “It wasn't difficult, really,” Colin answered. “She's down feeding Runt, who had full use of his hands until he saw Ellen appear. I do not know that she's speeding his recovery along.”

  “Ellen seems to be growing very fond of Runt. She was pretty anxious to check on him tonight. Is he any better?'

  “With Ellen's beautiful face attending to him, he'll probably take forever to heal.”

  Celia's glare of feigned jealousy in Colin's direction caught him up short.

  “Not that I think she's beautiful, mind you,” Colin said. “She's Runt's type.”

  Celia touched Kit’s soft hair with her chin. She was never one to bring attention to herself, but she simply had to ask.

  “Really. And what's your type?” Celia whispered—thinking, hoping, knowing.

  Colin's eyes traveled lingeringly from her auburn ringlets to the silky skin of her neck and shoulders. He gazed at the perfect symmetry of her slightly exposed, softly rounded breasts, at the slender taper of the waist, at the womanly fullness of her hips. His eyes engaged hers with an earnestness that silenced any complaint that she might have uttered, and when he answered, his voice was husky with feeling.

  “You are.”

  Celia now realized that undergoing Colin's searchingly tender gaze, she had stopped breathing.

  Colin glided to her chair with the grace of a ship under sail. Dropping to one knee beside her, he slid one arm around the baby nestled in Celia's lap and used the other to gather her in.

  There was no hesitation once their lips met. Since their encounter earlier in the day, each had been haunted by doubts about the reality of what they had felt, of what they had experienced. But what each of them was feeling now went beyond the physical attraction of the morning. And they both knew it.

  Wrapped in the warm fire glow of the evening, Celia drew Colin even further into her embrace. As Colin's lips pressed against hers, his simple touch inflamed her. His strength surrounded her, infused her with a soft, tender ache. As Colin's grip grew tighter, his head angled deeply, and Celia felt his full lips open over hers. The luxurious warmth of his mouth conveyed tenderness, care, and, above all, a passion that could not be hidden away, ignored, or denied. Celia had no intention of denying that something which promised to consume them. No, she wanted to bury herself in him, lose herself within the solid goodness of him. Celia knew, deep inside, that in the end, she would be powerless in the face of their flaming passion.

  Colin felt her lips open, admitting him to the velvet richness of her depths. He wanted to embrace her, protect her, have her. The sweetness of her thrilled him, tortured him with an agony that he knew would grow more exquisite with every moment.

  But Colin knew that this was not the right moment for the feelings that threatened to unhinge their innermost desires. Their thoughts were in unison, for as they broke off the kiss, each smiled down at the bairn who was so contentedly watching the activity above him.

  As Celia smiled down at Kit, her mind and body were in a state of turmoil. She could still feel Colin's strong hand against her back. Her lips still tingled from the pressure of their kiss. Her body ached at the very core of her being, crying out for more of his touch, his warm strength, for fulfillment of the longing that was growing within her.

  But in her mind, a war was being waged in which reason was being blinded, in which the very presence of this man was enough to drive out common sense and control. When she looked at him, Celia felt her soul expand. Fed by the senses, something else within her was gaining strength, overwhelming her.

  Gazing down at the child, Celia shuddered with confusion. What her heart was drawing her on to feel and to do, she knew was contradicted by other loyalties—by other promises.

  Colin looked up at Celia's face, willing her eyes up to meet his. As their gazes met, Colin saw emotion welling up in her. Her look inflamed a desire to reveal himself to her, to let her know the depth of feeling that traveled clear to his soul, the feeling that touched her and all who were dear to her, as well.

  Colin tried to express this by drawing her to him again. He brushed his lips lightly against hers, then leaned down and kissed the soft, red hair of the child on her lap.

  Raising his head, Colin thought to gently kiss the mother's full, tender lips once more before standing away, before putting an end to this sweet torment. He wanted Celia, but he knew that this was not the moment. He tenderly moved his lips to her warm face for one last, soft touch, but the scent of her skin ignited the passion within him. Suddenly the agony was too great to restrain. He claimed her mouth once more, devouring her so completely with a new possessiveness that rocked him. Then Colin pulled away from their embrace and stood up.

  “I'm having a rather difficult time, Celia,” Colin explained quickly, backing toward the fireplace, “keeping my hands off you.”

  Celia simply looked down at Kit, but Colin could see the blush come to her cheeks.

  “But I'm looking forward to continuing this...discussion...soon,” Colin finished, stumbling against the great oak chest. He turned with a smile. “Been redecorating, Celia?”

  “Aye...right after you and Alec arrived, I moved it there,” Celia answered, still feeling a bit dazed by their moment's embrace, but also a bit embarrassed about Colin noticing the relocated piece of furniture. “I know it will not stop anybody, but I wanted to have a little warning if any stranger tried to use it. I still do not know where that panel leads, or even how to open it.”

  “If you'll trust us enough to let me move it away, I'll show you how it works.”

  Responding to Celia's nod, Colin easily pushed the chest clear across the room to the opposite wall. If she uses this chest to block that entrance again, he thought, I'll chop it into firewood myself. Coming back with a smile on his face, he motioned Celia toward the fireplace.

  Celia stood, cradling the baby
on her hip, and moved to the fireplace. Colin was reaching one hand into the left side of the open hearth. Bending her head, she saw his fingers easily locate a nearly invisible gap between two of the stones. He slid a thin piece of wood out slightly until the nearby panel popped open. Colin took a thick candle from the mantelpiece and lit it in the fire. Celia followed him to the panel, which Colin pulled open and stepped through.

  Her face lit with anticipation, Celia walked through the opening and looked down the dusty, narrow passageway. On her left, Celia could just make out a set of steps leading down into darkness.

  “Those steps eventually lead down to the same passages we came in earlier, but there are a number of doorways that are inaccessible to anyone who doesn't know the secret.”

  “Who knows the secret?” Celia asked.

  “My father, Agnes, and I are the only ones who know how to get up to this passageway. These entries are not used, so you can be assured that no one will be coming up those steps. You really are quite safe.”

  Celia turned around and tried to look past Colin's massive body. She could see the wall of her fireplace jutting into the narrow corridor. There was what she assumed to be another fireplace jutting in from the other side.

  “What's beyond the fireplaces? Can someone go out into the hallway from here?”

  “Nay,” Colin responded, leading her past the fireplaces.

  “Then where did you come from the first night.”

  “From my room.”

  “Your room! Where is that?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Through this panel.” He grinned, sliding back the wooden latch and pushing open the panel into his room. “We conduct late night tours.”

  Celia peered hesitantly into the warm glow of the warrior’s room. The rich tapestries on the walls and the comfortable furniture did nothing to lessen the masculine atmosphere of the chamber. The character of the room was surprising, just like its inhabitant. Her eyes traveled to the huge bed, its dark curtains drawn back.