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She swallowed hard, very aware that he was gazing at her face, and that she was no beauty. His words might be only empty flattery, and yet at his softly spoken compliment, heat poured through every limb.
She also knew she was smiling like a ninny, knew she must look besotted, but she couldn’t help it. No man’s words had ever meant so much to her—and surely the sincere approval she saw in his eyes could not be a trick.
He gently took hold of her shoulders and drew her close, bending lower. “Your scruples do you credit, Seona. Beautiful, beautiful Seona.”
The moment his lips touched hers, she seemed to melt like wax in a molten flame. She could no more have turned away from his kiss than she could have willed the planets to stop their circling of the earth.
One of his hands brushed through her hair as the other stroked her back. Willingly, eagerly, she leaned toward him and returned his passionate kiss. His cloak opened and she splayed her hands on his broad chest, feeling it rise and lower beneath her outstretched palms.
With growing urgency, his mouth moved over hers and when his tongue pressed against her sealed lips, she answered his silent request, parting them to let his tongue slide into her warm and waiting mouth.
A low moan escaped her as he clasped her to him as if he would meld them together like beings made of clay.
Then, suddenly, he stopped.
Gasping, uncertain, she looked at him questioningly, her lips still tingling from his kiss.
Griffydd drew a ragged breath and pushed her away, astonished at the desire surging through him. He had never felt like this. Never! Something had to be wrong with him—or with her.
“Have you bewitched me?” he demanded. “Have you put some kind of spell upon me?”
“What…what do you mean?” she asked in a whisper.
“As tempting as the thought of sharing my bed with you may be, I am an honorable man, and I will not be seduced by my host’s daughter.”
“I am not seducing you!”
His hands curled into angry fists at his side and he fought to control his raging temper. Diarmad must have ordered her to escort him here as part of a dastardly scheme to force a wedding between them and therefore an alliance between his father and the Gall-Gaidheal. “Where is the jealous suitor? Or will it be your irate father who is supposed to burst in and accuse me of dishonoring you?”
She stared at him in disbelief at his accusations and the sudden change in his manner.
“For a woman who claims she does not agree with her father’s strategy, you seemed very eager to give yourself to me,” he continued, wrapping the cloak about himself again. “Or perhaps that kiss was only to whet my appetite?
“Unfortunately for you, his plan will not succeed. Although sleeping with you would be a serious breach of courtesy, to the Welsh making love before marriage is not enough to extort a betrothal.”
“No! No—you kissed me!” she protested, dismayed by his suspicion.
“Why did you linger here at this hour of the night? And such enthusiasm to voice your honorable honesty!” he replied sarcastically. “Very clever and very crafty, Seona. Perhaps you think I am feebleminded not to see exactly what kind of trap this is? My father warned me about Diarmad MacMurdoch. It is to be regretted that he didn’t give me similar warnings about you.”
“Because there were no warnings to be given!” she retorted, angered by his implications. “I meant what I said. I wanted you to know that I have no hand in any of my father’s scheming.”
“No?” Griffydd demanded, his cold, skeptical gaze wounding her more than a dagger might have done. “Then what plan of your own were you hatching?”
“None!” she cried, glaring at him and hating him for not believing her. “This is to be the thanks I get for trying to be honest with you?”
She thought of the look in his eyes when he called her beautiful and marveled at her gullibility. “I should have realized you were not to be trusted—”
“I am not to be trusted? If there is duplicity here, look to yourself!”
“I am not the one spouting lies!” she replied, turning on her heel to leave.
He grabbed her arm to halt her progress and came to stand before her.
“I am an honest man, but that does not mean I am a fool. Now tell me what lies I have told,” Griffydd commanded with more angry animosity than even his own parents would have suspected he possessed.
But angry he was, and hurt and upset. He had been tricked by a lovely woman, a woman he still desired so much that, despite her deceit, it was all he could do not to carry her to his bed.
He must be going mad, driven slowly insane by Diarmad MacMurdoch and his desirable daughter, who stood defiantly before him, proud as a queen, bold as an Amazon.
“Take your hands from me!” she ordered scornfully.
He obeyed at once. “What lies have I told?” he demanded again.
Her lip curled and passionate anger burned in her large eyes, although her tone was coolly sarcastic. “Since I am so tempting, sir, I had best leave you to your rest. Sleep well.”
With that, she marched haughtily out the door.
After she had gone, Griffydd stood motionless for a long time before he raked his trembling hand through his hair.
Even now, he half expected a gang of Gall-Gaidheal led by a belligerent Diarmad to charge into his quarters and demand that he wed Seona or die.
He had been trapped like the most naive dupe in Britain.
Then he stared at his quivering fingers as if they belonged to somebody else. Indeed, he almost felt they must.
His was the steady hand. He never trembled, not with fear or longing or excitement.
Dylan did. And Dylan was the lover, never without a woman. Not him.
Yet Griffydd knew he had acted as impulsively as Dylan ever had. At the time, he had given no thought to the ramifications of kissing Seona MacMurdoch.
He had acted with his heart, not his head.
Which was wrong. And weak. And foolish. Most of all, foolish.
Her presence in his quarters had to be part of a strategy, and her apparent sincerity only a trick.
Despite Seona’s denials, she must have been a willing participant in the plan. After all, no one had shoved her through the door or asked her to stay.
Griffydd slowly drew his sword from its scabbard. With deliberate movements he twisted it to and fro until his hand grew steady again.
Until he was master of himself again.
Disgusted with his own gullibility, Griffydd told himself he would think only of the trade pact. He would ignore Seona MacMurdoch, with her fascinating face, spirited manner and huge brown eyes.
She had deceived him once, and he would not let that happen again.
Seona came to a halt on top of the rise overlooking the harbor of Dunloch near the ruined broch. The cold air blew through her loose dress and whipped her hair about her face. It howled through the gaps in the stones of the ancient tower like the keening of mourning women before heading toward the fortress and village below. In the village, a few flickering lights occasionally shone out into the darkness of the night. The sound of drunken singing rose from her father’s hall, telling her that her father was in a jovial mood, obviously anticipating a considerable profit from his pact with the Welshman’s family.
Wrapping her arms about herself for warmth, her gaze moved to the boundless ocean, its shimmering water lit by the pale moon.
If only she could sail away from here, or run away to some place where she could be free—of her duties, of her father, of his constant disapproval, of his plans and schemes.
But where could she go, a lone woman with no friends and no money? Her brothers would send her home, too afraid of losing command of their villages if they offended their father to shelter her. No other chieftain would want to risk his wrath, either, because Diarmad MacMurdoch commanded a large fleet. He had the ships, the men and the arms, as well as the money for more, if he chose to punish them.
Nor could she count on sanctuary in a holy place. The priests had endured many attacks over the years from the Norsemen and were all too grateful for Diarmad MacMurdoch’s protection. They would certainly tell him where she was, if nothing else, and then her father would come for her. She could envision him dragging her out of a chapel, the priests helpless to stop him.
Now she had made things even worse.
She had been a fool, a simpleton so moved by her attraction to a handsome stranger that she had been totally humiliated while trying to do good.
Yet whose fault was that, really? If she were in his place, what would she make of such a visit and her willing kiss?
She should be glad he had been angry, otherwise who could say what more she might have done?
At least all that had resulted was anger on both sides, and grave suspicion on his.
She smiled sardonically. Considering her father’s ability to get the best of men with whom he bargained, Griffydd DeLanyea should be thankful that she had roused his distrust. Surely now he would be twice as wary…
She gasped and her hand flew to her lips. What if he told her father what had happened in his quarters to rouse that mistrust?
Her father didn’t like her as it was. Surely he would consider anything that interfered with his trade negotiations unforgivable.
This time, she might finally incur such wrath that the consequences would be more than having to listen to him berate her.
Maybe he would take away her little house. It had been very difficult to persuade him to let her live in solitude so that she did not have to endure gossip and speculation.
Perhaps he would send her to a convent. He had threatened to do so countless times; this might finally drive him to do it.
Seona shivered as she made her decision.
Somehow, she would have to insure that Griffydd DeLanyea did not tell her father what had happened in the guest quarters tonight. No matter how much more humiliating it would be to have to speak with the Welshman again, she simply could not risk the alternatives.
Chapter Four (#ulink_2e9c16c5-242d-5013-b8f1-2360fe42f380)
As the light of early morning struggled through the low clouds, Griffydd groggily trudged through the spruce trees toward the stream near his quarters. Clad in breeches, plain tunic and boots, his cloak slung over his shoulder, he could hear the water babbling like the sly laughter of sprites making sport of him.
He frowned darkly. He had lain awake for a long time last night deciding how best to proceed with the negotiations, even as he had tried not to contemplate Seona. Or the kiss they had shared. Or the softness in her eyes as she had looked at him, and the way that tender, yearning expression had seemed to touch his soul.
Diarmad MacMurdoch was a despicable old villain, setting his daughter as a trap and, Griffydd knew, only a fool would continue to be a victim of her allure.
He paused a moment and drew in a breath of the piney air. The clouds looked to be moving off and the air was bracingly cool for spring. In the near distance, the stream gurgled on.
He sighed deeply and rotated his aching neck. Almost groaning aloud, he hoped a wash in the cold water would help clear his befuddled head.
He came out of the trees and immediately halted at the sight that met his eyes.
There, beside the stream a short distance away, a shaft of sunlight illuminated Diarmad’s daughter as she cradled an infant in her arms.
In a plain gown as green as the trees around him, Seona regarded the babe she held with downcast eyes. Her thick, magnificent hair was drawn away from her face to fall in two twisted coils down her back, glowing in the early morning sunlight like a halo. He had never seen anything quite so breathtaking, except perhaps his first glimpse of Seona MacMurdoch’s half eager, half questioning eyes.
She looked like a Madonna with child, and the sight brought such a longing to Griffydd that it seemed a lump the size of the Stone of Scone had suddenly lodged in his throat.
It took him another moment to realize she and the baby were not alone. Another young woman squatted a short distance away, washing a garment in the fast-moving and no doubt chilly stream. She was, he saw at once, what other men would call beautiful, with a fine profile and long slender neck emphasized by her dark hair braided about her head. As she worked briskly, it was evident her body was shapely, too.
A little boy played beside her with a stick in the water, and the woman paused to admonish him, a petulant frown on her face. Beautiful, perhaps, but it was the patient smile on Seona’s visage as she called the lad to her side that appealed to him more.
Suddenly the toddler slipped on the rocky bank and fell into the stream. The other woman emitted a shriek as the swift current caught his body, carrying him away from her.
Seona, still holding the infant, scrambled to her feet while Griffydd threw off his cloak and charged into the rushing water. When the little boy’s head disappeared beneath the surface, the other woman screamed hysterically.
Concentrating on the child, Griffydd judged where the current would send its victim and hurried there, scanning the cold, rushing water as he had been taught to do when catching fish if he were forced to fend for himself.
There!
The child’s head popped up, and at once Griffydd reached down and scooped the boy out of the frigid stream. The boy choked and sputtered as he clung to Griffydd.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe,” Griffydd muttered in Welsh, too shocked himself by the sudden and unexpected need to rush to the rescue to remember that the little fellow wouldn’t understand a word he said. He walked carefully toward the bank, lest there be more loose stones underfoot.
The boy stared up at Griffydd with wide, terrified eyes, his lips blue as his breathing returned to normal. Griffydd rubbed the child’s arms with his free hand, trying to warm him as best he could.
The other young woman pushed past Seona and ran to them, grabbing the boy from Griffydd’s grasp as a jumble of grateful Gaelic tumbled from her lips.
Trying not to remember the last time he had spoken to Seona, Griffydd gathered up his cloak as she hurried closer.
He coughed and discovered he had no stone in his throat, after all. “Tell her to wrap the child in this.”
Smiling with obvious relief, Seona nodded and spoke to the woman, who took the cloak and did as he ordered.
“Thank you!” Seona said fervently, turning back to him as she gently rocked the whimpering infant in her arms.
“It was nothing.”
The boy stopped shivering and stuck a finger in his quivering mouth before regarding his savior pensively, one damp arm tight about the woman’s neck.
“Fionn and his mother don’t think so,” Seona observed, nodding at them. She spoke a few rapid words of Gaelic, and Griffydd recognized his name. Obviously, introductions were being made.
“These are both her children?” Griffydd inquired.
“Yes. She is Lisid, and they are hers.”
Lisid continued to smile at him, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her pretty face with a gesture that was surprisingly coy, given that her child had almost drowned only moments ago.
“This is Fionn,” Seona said, nodding at the boy. She smiled down at the infant she held. “And this little angel is his sister, Beitiris.”
Seona glanced up at Griffydd, then away, as a lovely blush crept over her smooth cheeks, like the pink that tinted the clouds he used to watch out the window of his bedchamber when he would waken with the dawn.
He did not know what to make of her bashful demeanor here beside the stream. Changeling, indeed, to be so seemingly modest one moment, a spirited maiden the next and a brazen temptress after that, he thought with a twinge of bitterness.
