Chapter 17

Fen's inn stood about three miles up the glen. She wasn't a whore as such, being a little more sophisticated than that, although she did offer her customers more than the odd drink of cheap whiskey. By the time Callm was at the end of his third glass, it was exactly as he hoped after leaving the castle. In a dudgeon.

The hell of it was he even wound up upstairs in Fen's bed. At least, he must be honest with himself, he ended up on it. The night was young to be anywhere else yet.

"Callm, hud on a minute, aye?" Beneath him Fen wriggled. "Just let me … let me loosen your belt … and then, then—we can do this."

"All right."

Under no circumstances would he describe Fen as the woman of his choice. She was so drunk, the wonder was she hadn't fallen down the stairs on her way up. Now his hands slid down her body, the curves, the planes, the part where her breasts curved and her kirtle didn't quite cover it, did he give a damn?

The circumstances did not exist on the face of this earth in which he had planned on defending Miss Stubborn MacHigh-and-Mighty. Not the way she trod in hobnailed cloppers where angels wouldn't dream of wandering within a ten-mile radius of.

Christ, hadn't it sort of been her fault when her tits fell out her dress like that andit wrapped itself around her navel.Not that he'd been looking or anything.

And what had he just done? At the expense of himself too. What the hell had he done what he did next for either? Buying her time?

Well. While not a patch on Miss Big Mouth Stubborn, Fen was willing and whimpering, soft and warm. As he found her mouth in the darkness of the chamber, he foresaw only joy. Five years. Oh yes.

She kissed like a dream, and he was so ravenous, his pulse bucked. He didn't have time for the courtship of women, as their fathers expected. To be a husband to any of the ones whose fathers didn't, whose fathers were desperate, because they were ruined, or blind, like Maire, the fiddler's daughter, over at Analpin, he'd warned Ewen off earlier this year. In that respect Fen was ideal.

He backed off the bed. Kicked the door shut with his heel.

Of course there was Morven.

Probably it was Morven, more than anything else, the glen, these women, what he was, what people expected. At the time he'd wanted to kill—not everyone—but a lot of people. What was more, he had. He had loved her, she was his life—although none of what he'd done since made him proud.

If she hadn't been raped ...

Because that, that was why he just … couldn't. And if that ever got out, he'd be finished.

He was damned glad he'd stopped off here for that drink though. The noise from down below was raucous. And Miss MacHigh-and-Mighty made him randy. Impossible as she was, disdaining his help, smiling that smile that was false as a ten legged donkey. He tore off his sword belt. Oh yes, love-making was a pastime he enjoyed. He liked women. Their soft laughs and lips. Warm skin and shapely bodies. Even the little secrets they sometimes kept.

"Hold on." His plaid was tangled in his actual belt but he tore it loose, unwinding himself from it. "I just need to get this off."

Five years. Who needed soft light and whatever the hell else he'd imagined with Miss MacHigh? With any other woman come to that? The ones he'd found it simpler to play the grief-stricken card with. He was grief-stricken.

Now that his plaid lay in a heap on the floor, he just wanted to tear off his boots, undo his breeches, and get on with it.

The boot landed with a satisfying thump. He leaped onto the bed. Found her mouth. Kissed her long and hard. It was just a pity that while she didn't taste bad, Fen didn't taste half as good as she kissed. Her breath carried more than the sour tang of whiskey. But she was certainly soft enough in all the right places. She was like him too. Lonely since her man died. On the right side of hard working. Made a home for her brothers and sisters.

He grunted. Though luscious and eager, she didn't smell very good either. That was all right because she'd thrust her hand down the back of his breeches looking for the place where his tunic ended. Not just looking. She clasped his buttock hard. How good was that? Just what he needed. Just--Christ almighty—what the hell was that scent of rose petals doing swimming into his head?So treacherously inviting, he strove not to sniff.

He cursed beneath his breath. Would Miss High and Mighty just get the hell out his head so he could shag Fen? How dare she, occupy his space like this. When his breath was coming in a rush and Fen's fingers tore at the fastenings of his breeches. Imagining her,imagining her fingers and that gown of hers open, so he could kiss her soft white breasts, wasn't conducive to this.

Christ. How the hell could he have put Morven out of his head, for her to walk right in? But it was still all right. He shifted his elbow. How the hell had he never noticed when he'd drunk with Fen before, she stunk? Merciful Mary. She stunk to high heaven. All right, it was no crime. A little sweat. A little grime. A little stew fat. But when he held his breath fit to choke, he didn't want any thought about the way Miss MacHigh's eyes had sparked when she faced down the turd. When desire raged and Morven wasn't anywhere in his head for once--probably because her ghost cowered in a corner in shame--what he wanted was to do this. Well, he would do it. He grasped the wooden headboard.

"Callm!" The door rattled. A sharp rat-tat.

Jesus. Talking of heads, his smacked the sloping roof as he jerked upright.

"Callm, you in there, man?"

He wasn't. He wasn't anywhere.

"Callm!" The door shook. "Callm! I'm sorry, man."

He could ignore it. When he'd come in here he was so eager, so desperately fired, the supporting slat had fallen off at one end when he'd flung the door open. Now that Wee Murdie hammered on the other side of it, he felt like he could have kissed him, not Fen. How the hell was that?

What was more, he leaped off the bed, as if it were on fire, and yanked his plaid from the floor. "Hold on. I'm just—sorry about this, sweetheart."

He pulled the door open, not caring his plaid hung off his shoulder and he hopped on one foot because he couldn't get his boot on.

A sickly halo of yellow light cast Wee Murdie's face in the same pallor. This was urgent. It had to be. Whether it was or not, even with men who had long since become his friends, he was never so easily distracted from maintaining his reputation. Not when their respect was something he couldn't countenance losing for a second.

But the fact was his heart hammered with relief. The place was a hovel. Torn bedding. Holes in the roof. A bed the only furniture to speak of. And not much to speak of at that. So This better be good were words he knew he'd struggle to grit. Anyway, he wasn't exactly dressed for it.

"What?" Instead he jerked the hair back from his face.

"Party's over." Already Wee Murdie's boots clattered on the rickety staircase as he started back down it. "No prizes for guessing how."

Callm's heart lurched. It would mean he felt something for the chit if he did not arrest the fall. Yet his blood boiled, hotter than it had in the castle hall. His hand smacked the door jamb before he could stop himself. He was going to kill Ewen for this.

"Which part of 'Stay the hell away' does that bastard not understand? Where is she?"

Wee Murdie paused on the bend. "Who?"

"Lady McGurkie."

"Oh, it's no' her."

Callm swallowed his shock. If not her, then surely not—hell, the chit was fiery, he could see that, but—Ewen?

"Nah." Wee Murdie ducked his head under the sloping roof and continued on his way. "How did you think it was?"

Well …

"But I'd hurry up just the same. Snosh's found some bloodied rags on his watch."

"Snosh has what?"

"Aye. The big cave at Schiealpin. Of course, it may no' be anything. Just some lassie in a muckle-puck o' trouble. Ewen's or someone else's. But the cave is near the pass. And, Callm?"

"What?"

"We are looking the other way right now."

Callm blinked. Did Wee Murdie mean him? "Shit. Right, hold on. Two seconds."

When an intruder was at large in Lochalpin, relief shouldn't flood about getting out of here. It especially shouldn't flood when there was an intruder so close to this wedding.

Unless, of course, it was a guest. But he hadn't allowed those. As for being caught like this, with his pants down, when his priority was to guard this glen, that wouldn't happen again. He gathered up the rest of his garments quickly. He even pressed a quick kiss on Fen's forehead. "Sorry, sweetheart. Some other time."

He even tried, for the sake of propriety, to sound as if he genuinely meant it. And not as if his mind hammered,over my dead body. As for the reason it did?

She better not cross him again.