problems here. "Lady Alexis told you all that?"
"Give an old man some credit, lad." He leaned back in the chair, his eyes glittering with manly pride. "She's tall, you know, and carries herself with dignity, same as her father did." Angus made the sign of the cross. "God rest his pure Stewart soul. I merely asked her if it bothered her to stand so close to a fellow of Sinclair's stature."
"By God, you baited her well. He's a giant." Duncan slapped his thigh. "What did she say?"
Chuckling, Angus said, "She looked down that pretty nose at me and said a well-bred and intelligent woman didn't judge a man by his size or his lack of it. Why, if I hadn't been fishing for information about Sinclair, I'd've thought she was referring to me. Stump that I am."
"Sounds as if she was flirting with you." Duncan pictured the stately Alexis beside the good-hearted man who'd been too busy caring for a lonely, mistreated lad to find himself a wife.
Angus's smile faded, replaced by an expression of understanding that Duncan had seen often in his life. "Nay, lad. I'd not expect Alexis Southward to flirt with me."
"Why not?"
"Let's just say I'd question her motives. She's a Stewart princess, no matter what side of the blanket she was born on. I won't go lusting after her, either."
Duncan couldn't let lust cloud his reason or influence his decisions, for the welfare of his people and the future of his son hung in the balance. "Good advice, Angus."
"Lady Miriam got your blood up. I see it in your eyes and…" His sly gaze dropped lower. "Elsewhere."
Duncan ground his teeth and focused on a Roman helmet he'd spent weeks restoring. "I'm a widower, not a monk."
"Forget the ache in your lady crackers and guard your heart, lad, for if what my brother said about Miriam MacDonald is true, she hasn't the capacity for affection— not the kind you're seeking."
Disappointment weighted Duncan's spirits. "What else did the good tinker allow?"
"He swears, according to the trustworthy chambermaid in the household of the mayor of London, that the MacDonald lass is a cold fish and wouldn't know humor or passion if they ambushed her in the road."
Duncan remembered the feel of her mouth moving beneath his, and the pleasurable sensations of her satiny tongue gliding between his lips. Renewed lust rocketed to his groin. In retrospect, he could recall the precise moment when she yielded to passion and became its eager student. He hadn't known then that the experience was a new one for her. Now he sorely ached to initiate her fully in the joys of physical love. But the risk was too great. She mustn't find out he was the Border Lord. She mustn't stop him from defending his crofters and his own son.
"Have you nothing to say?" asked Angus.
"Aye." Duncan downed the remainder of his ale and slammed the tankard on the table. Getting to his feet, he said, "If the tinker said she was a stranger to passion and humor, he was right on only one count."
5
"You can't possibly intend to winter here," said Alexis.
"Keep your voice down," Miriam whispered, not breaking stride in her journey down the main stairway of the castle.
In the entryway, a housemaid sloshed a rag mop into a pail, then twirled the handle between her flattened palms. A servant boy carrying a brimming ash bucket paused to talk to the girl. Miriam went on her way.
Alexis hurried after her, her calf slippers making soft rustling noises on the stone flags. "You can't, Miriam. The queen will be furious."
"She's furious now." The aroma of freshly baked bread drew Miriam toward an arched corridor. Her stomach growled. "This way. I'm famished."
Alexis clutched her forearm. "Say you're jesting."
"I never jest, and you know it." Except once last night, but she'd erred royally in all other aspects of the evening. She'd learned nothing and experienced everything.
"There's something you're not telling me," said Alexis. "Don't ask me to guess, 'tis too early in the morning."
"Then I won't."
"Oh, drat
"Give an old man some credit, lad." He leaned back in the chair, his eyes glittering with manly pride. "She's tall, you know, and carries herself with dignity, same as her father did." Angus made the sign of the cross. "God rest his pure Stewart soul. I merely asked her if it bothered her to stand so close to a fellow of Sinclair's stature."
"By God, you baited her well. He's a giant." Duncan slapped his thigh. "What did she say?"
Chuckling, Angus said, "She looked down that pretty nose at me and said a well-bred and intelligent woman didn't judge a man by his size or his lack of it. Why, if I hadn't been fishing for information about Sinclair, I'd've thought she was referring to me. Stump that I am."
"Sounds as if she was flirting with you." Duncan pictured the stately Alexis beside the good-hearted man who'd been too busy caring for a lonely, mistreated lad to find himself a wife.
Angus's smile faded, replaced by an expression of understanding that Duncan had seen often in his life. "Nay, lad. I'd not expect Alexis Southward to flirt with me."
"Why not?"
"Let's just say I'd question her motives. She's a Stewart princess, no matter what side of the blanket she was born on. I won't go lusting after her, either."
Duncan couldn't let lust cloud his reason or influence his decisions, for the welfare of his people and the future of his son hung in the balance. "Good advice, Angus."
"Lady Miriam got your blood up. I see it in your eyes and…" His sly gaze dropped lower. "Elsewhere."
Duncan ground his teeth and focused on a Roman helmet he'd spent weeks restoring. "I'm a widower, not a monk."
"Forget the ache in your lady crackers and guard your heart, lad, for if what my brother said about Miriam MacDonald is true, she hasn't the capacity for affection— not the kind you're seeking."
Disappointment weighted Duncan's spirits. "What else did the good tinker allow?"
"He swears, according to the trustworthy chambermaid in the household of the mayor of London, that the MacDonald lass is a cold fish and wouldn't know humor or passion if they ambushed her in the road."
Duncan remembered the feel of her mouth moving beneath his, and the pleasurable sensations of her satiny tongue gliding between his lips. Renewed lust rocketed to his groin. In retrospect, he could recall the precise moment when she yielded to passion and became its eager student. He hadn't known then that the experience was a new one for her. Now he sorely ached to initiate her fully in the joys of physical love. But the risk was too great. She mustn't find out he was the Border Lord. She mustn't stop him from defending his crofters and his own son.
"Have you nothing to say?" asked Angus.
"Aye." Duncan downed the remainder of his ale and slammed the tankard on the table. Getting to his feet, he said, "If the tinker said she was a stranger to passion and humor, he was right on only one count."
5
"You can't possibly intend to winter here," said Alexis.
"Keep your voice down," Miriam whispered, not breaking stride in her journey down the main stairway of the castle.
In the entryway, a housemaid sloshed a rag mop into a pail, then twirled the handle between her flattened palms. A servant boy carrying a brimming ash bucket paused to talk to the girl. Miriam went on her way.
Alexis hurried after her, her calf slippers making soft rustling noises on the stone flags. "You can't, Miriam. The queen will be furious."
"She's furious now." The aroma of freshly baked bread drew Miriam toward an arched corridor. Her stomach growled. "This way. I'm famished."
Alexis clutched her forearm. "Say you're jesting."
"I never jest, and you know it." Except once last night, but she'd erred royally in all other aspects of the evening. She'd learned nothing and experienced everything.
"There's something you're not telling me," said Alexis. "Don't ask me to guess, 'tis too early in the morning."
"Then I won't."
"Oh, drat
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