Page 49 of Keeping Kate
“You are in my custody,” he gasped. “In my protection.” He could not treat her like this. Already she meant too much to him. Realizing that, he rocked away, the bed lurching, and sat back against the wall.
His voice came rough and husky. “I am sorry. Forgive me.”
“Leave me be.” She sat up, leaned on a hand, sat, pulling at her chemise in a gesture of modesty. Her eyes were wide, lips lush, tinted with passion. She curled her knees high, wrapped arms around, ducked her head.
Alec had seen her curl into that pose in the prison cell. Forlorn. Lost. And yet conserving her strength and control, he realized then.
“Kate, we cannot. You know that,” he murmured.
“I know you think I am only a harlot, and you have your duty, and suddenly you thought of your orders. And now you want nothing more to do with me than deliver me to—my fate,” she said, head tucked, voice muffled.
“I am not thinking any of that.” Shoving his fingers through his hair, he sighed out. “But you are my responsibility, and it is not right to do this.”
“So you must resist the wicked wench in your keeping, the man-hunter who is after you?” Her eyes were pink-rimmed, on the verge of tears. “I am not any of that.” She shook her head, hair slipping over her shoulders, unbound, a tangle of rosy gold.
“I mean,” he said patiently, quietly, “that I would never take advantage of our situation. Of you.” He felt a little helpless to explain more, sensing that his regard for her went even deeper than duty. He was not one articulate his feelings. Nor was he mean-hearted enough to say that he would not put any lass in the position that Jean was in now, a point of contention he had with his irresponsible, irrepressible cousin. “And I did not mean to insult you.”
“I am not—oh, just leave me be,” she said, sounding miserable. “I am tired. And I would like another room, please.” She slid her feet and legs over the edge of the bed and stood, snatching up her plaid and shoes. Her hand hovered on her stained green dress, and then she chose Jean’s wine-red gown.
Standing, she turned her back, undid her stays at the front, drew off her old chemise in quick movements that told him she was used to doing for herself. Yanking on the fresh chemise, she threw her old stays out from under it and took up the newer stays, fastening them around the chemise. He watched in bemused fascination, ignoring the surging within at the hourglass sight, all lush curves and taut slenderness. Then she pulled on petticoats and then the heavier dress, overlapping it somehow at the waist to show chemise and petticoats at the front.
Then she stomped to the door. He stood, shrugging on his shirt and waistcoat, but she grabbed the doorknob. “I need to borrow some coin to pay for another room.”
He reached out, took her wrist gently, firmly. “You need to stay here.”
She yanked. He did not give. “And forget what just happened?”
“I apologize.” He leaned a shoulder against the door to keep her from opening it. His body still throbbed with need, though diminishing. “I understand if you feel in high dudgeon. I was not the gentleman I expect of myself. But you must remain with me.”
She jerked her hand away, but he held on. “For how long?”
Forevercame unbidden. “Until I turn you over to the Court of Justiciary.”
She wrenched, but he pulled her toward the bed, sat her down firmly, kept a hand on her shoulder. Bending, he rummaged in the bag, brought out one iron bracelet and clapped it around her slim wrist. He turned the key. “Begging your pardon, lass.”
“No,” she whispered, almost a cry.
Quickly he dropped the other heavy cuff around his own wrist and locked that shut, dropping the key into his sporran. “It is safe this way. You are too much the challenge, Miss Marie Katherine What-you-will.” Wryly said, but his gaze was somber.
She glared up at him, wild and disheveled, hair in a tangle. Despite the anger, she looked fragile and desirable, and he felt like a wretch. This was no siren or fairy queen—the lass had taken him fast by the heartstrings. She would always have hold on him, a place with him. And he could not let her know it.
Her breath caught in a remnant of a sob that further wrenched his heart. “Please do not look at me like that,” he said. “You have given me precious little choice if we want to save both of our lives over the next few days. Lie down if you will. We both need rest.” He patted her shoulder. “You can lie by the wall. I will lie on the outside. On top of the blanket.”
“Oh, so you will know if I try to escape?”
“That too.” He began to sit. She scuttled back quickly to stretch out on her side, back to the wall, her uppermost right hand, cuffed and chained, resting on her hip. Alec turned down the lantern wick, and as the smoke twirled upward in the darkness, he shifted to lie full length, boots hanging over the end of the bed. He had to face her, his chained left hand resting on his leg.
They faced one another with a single flat pillow between them, breathing, silent but for the scrape of iron and the creak and rustle of the rope-slung straw mattress. The awkwardness and tension seemed to mount. Thin moonlight through the window illuminated the girl’s form beside him.
“Are you comfortable?” he ventured.
“Enough. Not as much as if I were at home,” she said, “alone.”
“And where is home?” he murmured.
“I do not want to lie here with you you. It is not right, you said it yourself.”
“Kate.” He sighed. “Just try. Dawn will be here all too soon.”
