It was amazing, really, Gwen realized. They were so in love with each other, and neither of them knew it.
Maybe her own life was unraveling at the seams, but surely she could do something to bring those two together.
When the sun had nearly completed its lazy crawl across the sky, smearing streaks of rose and liquid gold across the horizon, Nell pushed herself up and went off to prepare the evening meal.
She cast a glance over her shoulder at Gwen and made a fluffing motion to her bodice. “Dinna be forgettin’ to dress for dinner,” she said with a wink. “He never misses a meal, and I made his favorite this eve—roast suckling pig, neeps, and tatties.”
Oh, she’d dress, all right.
But Drustan didn’t come to dinner that night.
As a matter of fact, the stubborn man managed to hide from her for nearly a week.
19
Chaos had stormed his castle, dressed in lusciously low-cut gowns, silky slippers, and ribbons, Drustan brooded, raking his hair back and tying it with a leather thong.
None of his fortress’s defenses were useful against her, unless he wished to declare open warfare, mount up the guards, and dust off the catapult.
At which point, of course, his da and Nell would laugh themselves silly.
He’d been avoiding her since the day he’d taken her to Balanoch.
The next time he touched her, he’d tup her. He knew that. He fisted his hands at his sides, inhaling sharply.
His only recourse was to avoid her completely until Dageus returned with Anya. When Dageus confirmed that no such battle had occurred, he would have her removed from his castle and sent far away.
How far will be far enough? a most unwelcome voice asked. He knew that voice well. It was the one that endeavored daily to convince him that he had every right to take her to his bed.
A most dangerous, frighteningly persuasive voice.
He groaned and closed his eyes. He enjoyed a blissful moment’s respite, until her laughter, lifted by the buoyant summer breeze, soared through the open window of his chamber.
Eyes narrowed, he peered out, both dreading and anticipating what gown she might have donned today. Would it be purple, violet, indigo, lavender? It was almost as if she knew of his preference for the vibrant color. And with her golden hair, she looked splendid in it.
This morn she wore sheer mauve with a golden girdle. No surcoat, in deference to the sunny weather. Succulent, creamy breasts rose from the simple scooped neck. She’d piled her blond tresses atop her head and, threaded with violet ribbons, it tumbled in delightful disarray about her face. She sauntered across his lawn, as if all his estate belonged to her.
For the past week she’d been everywhere he’d wanted to be, driving him to seek seclusion wherever it could be found. He’d ducked into chambers in the castle he’d forgotten even existed.
She hadn’t bothered to be subtle about it. The moment she saw him, she chased about after him wearing a ferocious scowl, jabbering away about “things” she had to tell him.
Daily her tactics grew more sly and underhanded. Last night the audacious wench had picked the lock to his chamber! Because he’d had the foresight to barricade the door with a heavy armoire, she’d then gone to his door in the corridor and picked that lock. He’d been forced to escape out the window. Halfway down he’d slipped, crashed the last fifteen feet to the ground, and landed in a prickly bush. Since he’d not had time to don his trews, his manly parts had taken the brunt of his abrupt entry into the bush, putting him in a foul mood indeed.
The wench sought to unman him before his long-anticipated wedding night.
His every movement, every thought, every decision was being directly affected by her presence, and he resented it.
Her finger was even in the food he ate in the garrison with the guards, safely away from her, as Nell had begun “experimenting” with new recipes, and he’d like to know what the blethering hell was wrong with the old ones.
And she’d begun learning to ride, had indeed coaxed the stable master to teach her (probably for the cost of a smile with a dimple on one side, for he certainly hadn’t seen her shoveling out the stables). In midafternoon she could be found prancing about on a gentle mare across the front lawn of the estate, impairing his passage. He had to admit, she’d found her seat rather well. Any day now, when he vaulted astride his horse to escape her, she’d follow him.
His life had been so orderly before her arrival. Now his life was ordered about her schedule and how to avoid her. He’d been heading toward certain success, all the things he’d longed for. Just the day before she’d appeared on their doorstep, he’d been dreaming of holding his first son in his arms within the year, God willing that young Anya would catch a babe so quickly.