Behind the Plaid (22 page)

“Sweet dreams, fair Emma.”

Chapter Sixteen

Logan

T
he door to Emma’s chamber closed with a quiet click, but even still, the sound seemed to echo throughout the long stone corridor. Leaning my forehead against the cold hard wall, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Fists clenched tight, I resisted the urge to punch the wall. Control. Had to regain control. Cock hard as stone, I wanted nothing more than to rip off her door, storm back inside and take her like she’d begged me to.

Ballocks, but ’twas hard not to give in. The way she
pleaded, the way she opened up to me. I raked a hand through my hair and blew out a breath. No woman had ever affected me like Emma. No woman captivated me more. And no woman had ever made me feel like I might die if I didna sink inside her, hear her scream with pleasure as her cunny clenched my cock tight.

I glanced from one end
of the corridor to the other. Only a few sconces were lit, enough to light a walker’s path, but dark enough that a body could hide within the shadows. The way I liked it. Since I knew every inch of this castle like the back of my hand, if a shadow stood too long or bulky, I’d take notice.

I fiddled with the dirk at my hip. Though I doubted anyone hid in hopes of gaining me alone, part of me hoped they did.
A good fight would help dissipate some of the torment that filled my blood. I crept the twenty-three steps it took to get to my own chamber, paused outside the door. I wasna ready for bed. Knew that all I’d end up doing inside was pacing the room, punching the pillow and then somehow talking myself into returning to Emma’s chamber.

I would eventually make
it there. Of that I knew. In time, when she was fully prepared. When I was ready to relinquish control. For certes, I would break when my cock finally sank home.

MacDonald. I could let out some of my frustrations on the bastard. Make him suffer like I did. At the bottom of the stairs, two guards nodded
to me. I inclined my head but said nothing, intent on my path to the dungeon.

“My laird.”

Ewan.

I stood immobile
, but didna turn around. He would only seek to stop me. I should wait for the king’s missive. There was every possibility that His Majesty, in his
infinite
wisdom, would side with my enemy. In that case, I would be left with little options. I protected the king. I sheltered his secrets, my secrets. If he wanted them exposed, I had little choice but to obey.

Ewan came to stand in front of me, lowered his head in deference
, then met my gaze. “Where are ye headed?”

“To the water gate.”

Ewan raised a skeptical brown. “The water gate?”

“Do ye question me, lad?”

Ewan shook his head, a flash of knowing in his eyes. The man probably had a good idea that I was not only lying, but wouldna be swayed.

“I merely thought to accompany ye.”

“I need no company.”

“Then mayhap ye’d like a little hand on hand?”

Now it was my turn to raise a brow. “’Tis the middle of the night.”

“Aye, and ye’re not in your bed, and I not in mine. Couldn
a sleep and I assume ’tis the same for ye. Let us vent our frustrations with a few well laid punches.” Ewan smiled and wiggled his brows.

“Ye pose a verra
enticing proposition, lad.” Ewan was my second. My conscience. I trusted him. I should let him drag me away from my true purpose. But the truth was, I couldna. MacDonald had made it closer than he’d ever come before. He was smart. Aye, more so than most. But the fact that he had would only put a false sense of confidence inside my other enemies. “I canna. If ye’re only going to pester me, then come along.”

“Where are ye going?”

“Where have ye been trying to keep me from?”

“I was afraid of that. The man’s been silent as the dead since ye put him down there.”

“Has anyone checked to see that he still breathes?”

Ewan nodded, and turned to walk with me.
“Aye. He stands at the cell door as if awaiting someone.”

“Me.” My skin chilled. MacDonald was far too confident.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. The guards opened the heavy dungeon doors without a word and let us pass. I took a torch from the wall and descended the slick, stone stairs, the air instantly musty and filled with the scents of blood, excrement and death.

E
ach time I descended, the hand of the devil gripped tightly to the small of my back. Sweat trickled down each bone in my spine and beaded on my brow. My chest grew taut, and it was a labor to breathe. The sense of doom lay heavy and thick in the air, and must be the cause of my reaction. More potent tonight than any other, I could only surmise it was because my greatest enemy lay shackled only a few yards away.

“Is that ye, Grant? I can smell ye.” MacDonald’s voice echoed throughout the dungeon, bouncing off the walls and then dying flat, almost as if he’d never spoken. Only the ghosts of my mind playing tricks on me.

The man couldna smell me either, though for moment I swore he could. My revulsion of this place was strong. Faint memories danced on the edges of my consciousness, wanting to push forward. They were old, mayhap from when I was only a little older than a bairn. Screaming. Lots of screaming. Darkness. The smell. This smell. Fear. A terror that shook me to my very soul, made me question all I knew and threatened to never let me return.

Grinding my teeth, I forged ahead, refusing to let those distant recollections come to the surface. I didn
a want to know. Had kept them dark and buried. To bring them out now, before I faced MacDonald would only give him more weaponry and make me less quick-witted.

We rounded a corner
and came to the barred cell where MacDonald stood. The smug expression on his face and slight nod of his head as he looked me up and down was nearly enough to make me run the man through.

“So, ’twas ye.” MacDonald leaned forward, took a long leisurely sniff, but before he could do more than chuckle, I jab
bed him in the nose with my fist. A cracking sound shattered the still air. MacDonald cried out, gripped his nose and took a few stumbling steps backward. Not a full out punch, but sufficient to sting, make him bleed.

The man ought to know his place inside
my
dungeon. He attempted to play a game of minds, but I was in no mood. Forgetting he was wearing shackles the man tripped and fell flat on his bastard arse. I didna laugh, nor flinch, merely stared him down. He was nay the only one who could be intimidating.

“Ye’ll pay for that, Grant,” he seethe
d through his teeth, using his shirt to wipe at the blood trickling in a steady flow from his nostrils.

“How?” I glanced around with raised hands in question. “Who is going to punish me?”

“Your king.”

“Is he not your king as well?”

MacDonald sneered. “Ye already know that answer.”

“And so why do ye think he will punish me for hurting his enemy?”

“Maybe he
wants
me to take his place.”

I roared a laugh, while on the inside his words hit a chord. Was it possible that my king would seek for MacDonald to take
my place? Why?

“Ye’re an even bigger fool than I thought, MacDonald. If that’s the case, ’haps he wanted ye to believe it. Thought ye’d end up here and knew I’d make sure ye never left.”

MacDonald’s face paled visibly. The bastard hadna thought of that even though it’d only take me less than a minute to surmise as much.

“His Majesty
is a strategist,” MacDonald drawled, pushing himself awkwardly to his feet. He approached the bars, blood staining his nose, lips and chin. The metal shackles clinked as he moved. He reached up and gripped the bars, his fingers wrapping slowly around each rung just like I imagined he wished to wrap them around my neck. The man leaned close, his smile widening, madness bright in his eyes. “He wants us both left guessing. Dinna think ye’ve won. I guarantee this war has only just begun.”

I leaned close too, our breaths mingling. “I hope that thought helps ye to sleep better as ye curl up with the rats.”

MacDonald laughed. “And who do ye curl up with, Grant? Is she a bonny lass? Supple and sweet? How can ye be sure she willna stab ye in the throat while ye slumber, sated, your cock limp?”

Because I willna sleep beside her
. I smiled, baring my teeth. “Sleep is for the dead. Pleasant dreams.”

I didn
a wait for his response. Turned my back on the man and walked back the way I’d come, Ewan following. MacDonald called after me, yelling vulgar things meant to intimidate, but what I realized with our short visit was, the man was overconfident. Almost so much so that ’twould appear false.

I’d posted guards by the end of the short corridor where MacDonald was held, and there I stopped. “Dinna let anyone near him.
He is too confident. Dinna lose your sight on him.”

The guards nodded.

We ascended the winding stairs and when we reached the top, I gave similar instructions to the men, adding that no one went down unless expressly ordered by me or Ewan.

“Double the guard,” I told Ewan.

“Aye, my laird. And what about the battlements?”

“Double them.”

Ewan nodded and headed toward the barracks to issue orders. Rather than heading back to my chamber, I spoke with the men who reported nothing untoward. A slitted window graced the wall beside the dungeon door. For most, gazing out that thin opening was the last light they ever saw. The moon was high in the sky with wispy white clouds floating on the black inky surface of the sky. Had to be nearing two in the morning.

Dawn would crest the horizon within hours and the castle would slowly come to life. There was much to be done on the morrow. I prayed the king would return a message to me, but it was almost too soon to hope. Would most likely be several more days.

All the better for MacDonald to stew within the depths of Gealach’s own Hell.

When Ewan returned with more guards, I took my leave. The shadows danced all around, threatening to unearth fiendish spirits that would pull the demons from my mind. The only thing
s that suppressed the demons were whisky and women. Whisky dulled the mind and I had no interest in any other woman than Emma.

I passed her door on the way toward my bedchamber and stopped, backing up the few feet to stand before it. Pressing my ear to the door, all was quiet within. I half-hoped she’d been waiting for my footsteps
, would call me inside to tend her once more. But ’twas ridiculous. The lass had been spent, almost asleep when I left her sated. A lesson well-learned, the shock and pleasure on her face something I’d never forget. I was drawing a part of her out she’d never thought to have encompassed. Some may say I was ruining her. But how could I be ruining someone who wanted it? Who needed it?

Emma was broken like me. Needed healing. The best way I knew to heal us both was through touch.
Her appearance on the steps of Gealach seemed almost like a gift from God. But how could that be possible when I questioned His existence. For if He were a real entity, why would He not have given me my birthright?

Forcing myself away from her door
, I quickened my pace until I reached my own bedchamber, and then rushed within. ’Twas dark, and I used a torch from the corridor to light a candle before barring the door. All appeared the way I’d left it. The maids had left a flask of whisky on the table, a small favor they did each night, knowing the drink would help chase away my nightmares.

I asked my k
ing about God once, why He would see me to where I am instead of what was rightfully mine. His answer was the one I turned to whenever doubts began crowding in. I am here at Gealach for a reason. Scotland needs me here. Needs my strength. That somehow the Father in Heaven knew I would be better placed as guardian.

’Twas the only thing I could believe in. Had to hold onto it, for there was no changing places.

After a quick check about my chamber to make sure no enemies lurked, I disrobed with haste, tucking my dagger beneath my pillow and sword beneath my bed. I fell heavily onto the mattress, one arm folded beneath my head, the other holding the flask of whisky to my lips.