THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

here?”
     
     
     
    Chapter 19
     
    Duncan silently blessed the man who had first created wine as Beth, breathless from dancing, laughed and collapsed against him. The wine had lowered her guard enough that she again appeared willing to listen to his whispered praise and mumbled apologies. And now she smiled at him.
    “More wine, my lady?”
    “Nay, husband, water.”
    “Ack! ‘Tis night, woman. If ye must drink water, please reserve it for daylight.”
    Beth laughed as they returned to their chairs, leaving the rest of the revelers to finish the reel. “Are you trying to get me drunk, my lord?”
    “Me?” He smiled, not innocently, given ‘twas precisely his intent.
    “Don’t look at me like that with those big baby blues, Duncan. I’m still mad at you.”
    He pushed in her chair and kissed her temple. “Aye,” he whispered, “but ye ken ‘twas only fear that caused me to behave like a beast, no?”
    “Aye.” Blushing, she took off her mantel and fanned her face and chest with her hands.
    Looking down into her modest cleavage, images of their only night together, of her pert breasts filling his mouth, suddenly flood his mind and filled his groin. Fearing he’d start drooling if he didn’t get her away, he whispered, “Lass, ‘tis too warm in here.” He took her hand. “Come, let us get some fresh air.”
    “But our guests...”
    He looked about as his thumb traced a slow circle in her palm. The Bruce and his men were occupied with women and drink. Isaac had Flora in conversation. Catching Angus’s attention, Duncan glanced toward his wife then toward the door. His friend nodded almost imperceptibly as one side of his mouth curled. Knowing Angus and ten of his guards to be cold sober, he murmured, “They all appear well occupied, my lady. Come.” He coaxed her to her feet and led her to the bailey.
    Outside, the air barely moved, had lulled to a whisper. ‘Twas the time of day when offshore breezes usually stilled. Soon the land would be cool enough for the winds to reverse and bring home the strong onshore breeze, which would make for a good night’s sleep. Particularly, if he could convince his ladywife to allow him entrance into his own bed again.
    He scanned the bailey and carefully aimed her toward the privacy of the hay barn. “Ye look lovely this night, Beth.”
    “Me? Lovely?” She made a dismissing sound. “What they say is apparently true.”
    “What say who?”
    “Some say women get prettier at closing time.”
    He slipped his arm around her waist. “I dinna ken yer meaning.”
    “No, I don’t suppose you’d have a need to.” She stopped and faced him. “How do you see Flora?”
    Aha! ‘Twas not what he had or hadna done right, but Flora that still had her fashing.
    He ran a gentle finger along her jaw. “She is like fox-glove, Beth. Lovely to look at but verra dangerous—-poison—even in small amounts.”
    “Oh.” She didn’t appear pleased as she turned away.
    “Do you ken what foxglove can do?”
    “No, but I ken she’s probably hell in bed.”
    He spun her, gently enfolding her into his arms while forcing her into intimate contact with his chest and hips. “I dinna ken if she is or isna for I never have nor will I ever bed that woman. I told ye, I pledged my troth to thee, and I am a man of my word.” He ran his thumb gently across her bottom lip, enjoying its pliant fullness. “ Ye are more than I anticipated, more than I dared hope for.”
    Moisture came into her eyes as she studied his face. Finally she said, “Truth be told, Duncan, I do want to believe you, but experience has taught me otherwise. And there is the matter of my being here in the first place.”
    He sighed resignedly for there was that. If she spoke the truth about coming from another time then he was indeed married to the wrong woman, which meant one of the dead women in the coach had been his intended. Not something he wanted Albany to become aware of just yet.
    And her tale certainly explained her ability to swim, to save Flora, her attitude—-her proprietary interest—in Blackstone, and her most decidedly odd but charming ways. And she knew about the diary he kept, could relate specific events he’d lived through and documented; yet she couldna read Latin.
    “Lass, ye ken it takes great imagination on my part to believe ye?” When she nodded, he asked, “Then, can ye nay do the same for me?”
    Deep in thought, she ran her hands slowly over the planes of his chest.