The dirt-floored room was warm from a peat fire. There was a stool against the wall. He put her on it. “Stay here while I see to the horses.”
She hardly noticed when he returned, she was so tired.
“I thought you Scots were a stout bunch,” he teased, then laughed when she wearily sat upright, no longer leaning against the wall. “Come here and look what I have.” He opened a chest along one wall and began withdrawing food. There was a warm pot of a heavenly smelling stew. Thick dark bread came next. There was fish and soup, fruit and vegetables.
Bronwyn felt as if she were in a dream. Slowly she left the stool and went to Stephen’s side. Her eyes hungrily looked at each dish, then followed it to where he set it on the far side of him.
When she reached for a succulent piece of roast pork, Stephen pulled the dish away from her.
“There’s a price for all this,” he said quietly.
She moved away from him, her eyes glassy-hard. She started to rise.
Stephen set the dish down. “Here!” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “Is there no humor about you?”
“Not when it concerns a murdering Englishman,” she said stiffly.
He suddenly pulled her close to him. “At least you are consistent.” He held her away from him, caressed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “And what do you think I would charge for the food?”
“That I and my men swear allegiance to you, that we would fight for you even if you bade us fight against our own people,” she said flatly.
“Good God!” Stephen half yelled. “What a monster you must think I am.” He stared at her, frowning for a moment, then he smiled. “The payment I want will cost you much more. I want a kiss from you. One kiss, freely given. One kiss that I don’t have to fight you for.”
Bronwyn’s first reaction was to tell him what he could do with his food and his kisses, in Gaelic of course, but she was sure he’d understand. Then she paused. If nothing else, a Scotsman was practical. She couldn’t very well let all that food go to waste.
“Aye,” she whispered. “I’ll kiss you.”
She leaned forward, on her knees, and touched her lips to his. He started to grab her to him but she pushed his arms away. “Mine!” she said possessively. Stephen smiled and leaned back on his elbows, allowing her to take charge of him.
Her lips played with his ever so gently, touching them, moving on them. She used the very edge of her teeth, the tip of her tongue, to explore and search his mouth.
She moved away just enough to look at him. It was raining outside, and the soft sound made them feel isolated and especially alone. The soft gold of the flickering fire ca
st gentle shadows on his handsome face. With his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, Bronwyn could feel her heart begin to pound. Was it her imagination or had he grown better-looking since she’d first met him? He suddenly seemed perfection in a male.
Yet he lay still, waiting quietly. There was no sign of the excitement that she was feeling. No sense of humor! she thought and smiled. Let’s see how much humor you have, Englishman!
Stephen briefly opened his eyes before Bronwyn’s lips descended on his again. This time she wasn’t sweet or gentle but hungry. She bit at his lips, sucked at them.
Stephen lost his easy position of relaxation and fell against the hard floor. His hands closed about Bronwyn’s waist, pulling her closer to him. She laughed deep within her throat and again pushed his hands away. Obediently he let them fall to his side.
She pulled her head away, her lips still fastened to his, and his head followed her. With one hand behind his head, her fingers twisted in his hair, she moved her other hand to his knee. As she began to move it slowly upward, she felt his body tremble. He wore the Scots’ dress, and he was bare under the shirt and plaid. Inch by slow inch she caressed his inner thigh, higher and higher. When she touched him between his legs, Stephen’s eyes flew open, and the next minute he’d thrown Bronwyn to her back and had one leg across her.
“No!” she said, pushing against him. “One kiss, that was your price.” She was breathing so hard she could hardly talk, as if she’d been running for miles.
Stephen did not come to his senses quickly. He stared at her quite stupidly.
Both of her hands were against his chest. “You promised I could eat if I gave you one kiss. I believe I did that,” she said in all seriousness.
“Bronwyn,” Stephen said as if he were a dying man.
She smiled quite merrily and gave him a sharp push, then scrambled away from him. “Never let it be said that a Scotsman doesn’t keep his word.”
Stephen groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. “I must have aged twenty years since I met you. Drugs this morning, then you climbing a rock wall, and now you try to finish me. What more can I expect? The rack, or do you prefer the water torture?”
She laughed at him, then handed him a juicy piece of roast pork. She was already eating, her lips red from the kiss, glossy from the meat. She grabbed a piece of meat pie when Stephen took the pork. “How did you come to this place? Who brought the food? How did you hear about the cliff?”
It was Stephen’s turn to laugh as he began to eat, but without Bronwyn’s gusto. He still hadn’t recovered from Bronwyn’s hand between his legs. Tam had been more than right about the convenience of the Scots’ dress.