Page 40 of The Scottish Bride
“Hush.” Liam closed his fingers over her hand, her fingers slim and fragile under his. She did not protest.
He knew he must make the message clear for the guards across the room. Lifting Tamsin’s hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. She caught her breath as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. One of the soldiers rose to approach them.
“My lady, I am going to kiss you now,” Liam murmured as the man approached. “Aye so?” He tipped her chin up with his free hand.
Eyes wide, she nodded. Liam bent to gently touch his lips to hers. Though he meant it to appear casual, the kiss ran hard through him.
“Oh aye,” she breathed against his mouth.
That nearly undid him. The marriage ruse was meant to protect her, but suddenly he was the one in jeopardy, for she kissed him in return, her little sigh soft against his lips. He thought the floor might give way beneath him, felt the fire’s heatblaze to consuming intensity—or was that within him? He feared he might seize her in his arms as his body craved. Opening his hands, he let go, then drew back and pulled in a breath.
Looking up, he saw his brother and cousin gaping at him.
Tamsin touched his cheek and looked at him in wonder for an instant. By the saints, the girl had been married, yet looked at him as if she had never been kissed before. And he had not only stepped over a boundary, he had dropped into an abyss. His heart pounded. His body felt on fire.
If he did not put a cool distance between him and the lady now, he would be lost. Taking her hand from his cheek, he pressed her fingers to the table, his hand over hers.
“My love,” he said audibly, his voice not sounding quite his own.
“Love,” she breathed, staring at him.
This was not good, Liam thought. She was too trusting, this lass. He could not bear to fool her—or leave her.
The guard stood over them now, glowering. “In the name of the king, I demand that you identify yourselves. What is your business here? And who is this lady?”
*
At the barkedquestion, Tamsin caught her breath. Sir William’s hand tightened over hers, strong and warm. She turned her fingers within the cage of his, seeking reassurance. Her head still spun from the surprising kiss, the unexpected power of it, the way her knees dissolved and her heart quickened.
She was thankful her hood shielded her from clear view. Liam Seton, his hand still over hers, looked up. “We are king’s men, sir,” he told the soldier, “as are you.”
“Under whose command?”
“King’s direct orders,” Gilchrist replied. “And you?”
“We ride for Sir Malise Comyn of Dalrinnie.”
Tamsin felt her breath go ragged. Holding her hand, Liam Seton gave it a subtle, reassuring squeeze. She let a breath out.
“Kinsman to the murdered Comyn?” Finley asked.
“You know my lord commander?”
“We know he faithfully serves Edward,” Finley drawled.
“Aye, as do we. What are your orders?”
“Private, sir, direct from the king,” Liam Seton answered. “I cannot share them. But I will say I am taking my bride to her family estate in the Borders. These men escort us. The king’s men. Like you.”
Tamsin pressed her lips together to keep from speaking truths that bubbled up.I am running from Malise Comyn, I do not know what orders this man has from the king, he is not my husband…She looked away.
“Just wed, so the good dame says. A newly married couple does not usually merit a king’s escort.”
“I serve as his messenger.”
The man grunted. “I am Sir John Parsley,” he said. “You have not given your name, however. My commander will require the names of anyone we meet this day.”
Her so-called husband leaned toward the man. “My lady’s family is well known and close to the king. He would be annoyed if we were compromised or delayed on our journey. He has a chivalrous regard for ladies, as you know, and we are expected soon.”
