To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(40)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Your sister and the children,” she said impatiently.

She wriggled again and his limp cock slipped rather ignominiously from her sheath. He sighed. Not right now, then. He bent and gave each breast a farewell kiss and then straightened and rapidly buttoned his breeches. When he finished, Helen was still trying to dress without much success.

“Let me,” he said, and gently nudged aside her fingers from her stays. He laced her, hiding those magnificent breasts, and then helped her don the rest of her clothes, all the while considering how to phrase the demand.

He smoothed the fichu at her bosom and inhaled. “Helen—”

“Where are my shoes?” She suddenly bent, searching under his table. “Do you see them?”

“Here.” He fished them out of his coat pockets where he’d absently stowed them before. “Helen—”

“Oh, thank you!” She sat in his chair to slip them on.

He frowned down at her impatiently. “Helen—”

“Does my hair look all right?”

“Lovely.”

“You’re not looking.”

“Yes, I am!” The words came out a good deal more forcefully than he’d meant. He closed his eye, damning himself for a fool. When he looked up, she was staring at him inquisitively.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he ground out, and then took a deep breath. “Helen, I want to see you again.”

Her brows knit as if in faint confusion. “Well, of course we’ll see each other again. I do live here, you know.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.” Her harebell-blue eyes widened, and he briefly considered just taking her again on the table, good manners be damned. He didn’t have trouble communicating with her when they made love. “Ohhh.”

He suppressed his impatience. “Well?”

She took a step toward him until her breasts—those sweet breasts!—nearly touched his chest. Her face was still a little flushed, very prettily pink, and her eyes sparkled. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him chastely on the mouth, but when he moved to deepen the embrace, she darted away.

She walked to the tower door and paused to look back at him over her shoulder. “Perhaps later this evening?” She slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind her.

“BUT I DON’T like fish,” Jamie said as they trudged home from their ramble with Miss McDonald and Miss Munroe. “I don’t see why we should have it for supper.”

“Because otherwise it’s a waste to catch them,” Abigail said. She was out of breath, because Puddles had decided to stop walking and now she and Jamie took turns carrying him. “If we didn’t eat the fish, it’d be a sin.”

“But I didn’t catch them!” Jamie objected.

“Sad, isn’t it?” Miss McDonald said cheerfully. “How one is doomed to eat the catch even when one is completely innocent of the fishing?”

“Phoebe,” Miss Munroe grunted, “you’re demonstrating the wrong attitude.”

“Personally,” Miss McDonald whispered loudly to Jamie, “I make sure to fill up on bread and soup. Can’t stand fish myself.”

“Phoebe!”

“Now if only they could learn to hook a good Yorkshire pudding, I’d be quite content to dine on the catch,” Miss McDonald mused.

Jamie giggled and Abigail felt a small smile tug at her lips. They hadn’t found any badgers on their ramble, but it’d been quite fun, anyway. Miss Munroe was very stern, but she knew all kinds of interesting things, and Miss McDonald was funny.

“Ah, here we are,” Miss Munroe said as they came within sight of the castle. “I’m for tea and some muffins, I think. Who’s with me?”

“I am!” Jamie exclaimed at once.

“Excellent.” Miss Munroe beamed at Jamie.

“What shall I do with Puddles?” Abigail looked down at the sleeping puppy in her arms.

“We need to think of a better name for that dog,” Miss McDonald muttered.

“Has he a bed in the kitchen?” Miss Munroe asked.

“We’ve found an old coal box,” Jamie replied.

“Mmm. Best line it with some straw and a blanket if you have it,” Miss Munroe said.

“I’ll go look in the stables,” Abigail said.

“Good girl,” Miss Munroe said. “We’ll save a muffin for you in the sitting room.”

The others went inside the castle while Abigail continued around the side to the stables.

“Maybe we can find an old blanket or coat for you,” she whispered to the sleeping puppy in her arms. Puddles’s soft ear twitched as if he heard her even in his sleep.

The stables were dark compared to the sunshine outside. She stood quietly inside the door for a moment, letting her eyes get used to the dimness. There were several empty stalls at this end. Abigail started down the main aisle. Sir Alistair’s big horse, Griffin, and the little dogcart pony were stabled at the other end. That was probably where she’d find fresh straw. She heard a snort and the thump of a hoof as she neared the far end of the stable, and then she heard something else. A man muttering.

Abigail stopped. Puddles squirmed as she squeezed him too tightly to her chest. The horse snorted again, and then Mr. Wiggins backed out into the aisle from a stall, holding something in his arms. Abigail tensed to run, but before she could do so, the little man whirled and saw her.

“What’re you doin’?” he growled low. “Spyin’ on me? Are ye spyin’ on me?”

And she saw that the thing in his arms was a big silver platter. Abigail shook her head and stepped back, helplessly staring at the platter.

Mr. Wiggins’s eyes narrowed to evil slits. “You tell anyone—hisself included—and I’ll slit your throat, ye hear? I’ll slit your throat and your Mam’s and your wee little brother’s, too, ye hear me?”

Abigail could only nod frantically.

He took a step toward her, and suddenly her legs worked again. She turned and fled down the aisle of the stables, running as fast as she could. But behind her she could still hear Mr. Wiggins shout.

“Don’t you tell! You hear me? Don’t you tell!”

LISTER STARED MOODILY out his study window. “I should go north myself.”

Behind him, Henderson sighed. “Your Grace, it’s only been a few days. I doubt the men we sent have even reached Edinburgh yet.”