His Bonnie Bride, Hannah Howell [best ebook reader for chromebook .TXT] 📗

feeling that they might muddle the facts he would soon be given. It was clear from Eldon's manner that the news was not of a tragic nature, and that was enough for the moment.

Clenching the missive in his hand, Eldon turned blazing eyes upon Lord Foster. "We do not ride for home just yet."

"Ah. Where do we ride to?"

"Caraidland."

"God's teeth, ne'er say the lad has come and stolen Storm away again?"

"Nay. She rides to him to get his cursed name for her child."

"Mayhaps I had best withdraw. 'Tis a private matter."

"Not so private. The pack of seven went. Your two eldest. I suppose I should be grateful she did not tow the wee ones along."

Sighing, Lord Foster prepared himself for the long, hard and undoubtedly fast ride ahead.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The great hall of Caraidland was not wholly winning its battle against the encroaching winter's damp. The man seated at the table, a constantly full tankard making numerous trips to his mouth, took little notice. In fact, the gray dismal weather blended nicely with the mood Tavis had been in for far too long. That he was more than halfway drunk had become far too common an occurrence as well.

Katerine hid her annoyance as she sat at his side. For two long weeks she had forced herself to be the most amiable of companions. Although when she had arrived she had felt enough time had passed both for him to forget their differences and work up a sizable appetite for a woman, she had not yet found her way into his bed. She decided it was time to grow a little bolder.

Ever since Storm had left, Tavis had wavered from loving her and wanting her back to hating her and thinking himself well rid of her. Neither attitude helped to ease the hollow ache that seemed to be a permanent part of him. Even when he was hating her he was missing her.

Unthinkingly, his hand went to the amulet he wore constantly beneath his tunic. The moment he felt it, he could recall all too clearly how Storm had looked when he had let her leave with her father with no word. In that one moment of silence he had belittled everything that had gone between them. The hurt he had inflicted had been plain to read on her face even though she had quickly subdued it.

That thought started him growing angry again. If she had been hurt, if she had loved him as the leaving of her amulet suggested and she had claimed, then where was she? She should realize that a man had his pride to consider, that he could not go chasing after her. It was not too much to ask that she understand that it had been an inopportune time for him to consider her and him together. They had just fought a battle, her father had saved Caraidland even if it was mostly because Storm was inside its walls, and they were not allies. He could hardly have told the man then that he had been bedding his daughter and was rather loathe to see her leave. She should have explained matters to the man and then returned.

A saner part of him told him that he was being ridiculous, but Tavis was in no mood to listen to reason. To listen to reason meant that he had to admit that he had made a mistake, had been fool enough to let go of something he could never replace. No man could comfortably admit such uncomfortable things. It was easier to blame Storm for his pain, for his unending ache, his sense of being adrift and his long, far too empty nights.

It was time he started to do something about the nights. Celibacy was not healthy for a man, he assured himself as Katerine pressed against him, her fingers caressing his neck. Katerine was plainly willing, and she would ease some of his torment.

"Ye look troubled, Tavis," purred Katerine, recognizing the considering light in his eyes.

"Aye, and I ken ye have a cure," he murmured, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

Katerine smiled, seeing success coming closer. "Aye, one that's worked oft in the past."

Tavis waited for his senses to stir when Katerine's capable hand slid over his thigh. He decided the ale had dulled his passions. Katerine would have her work cut out for her. Sprawling back in his seat, he pulled her toward him and kissed her. With determination, he forced away the image that came to mind, forced his mouth to accept the taste of Katerine instead of the one he craved. When they finally parted for air he was beginning to foresee success. Anticipation was cut short when a knife skewered the chair between their faces. Katerine screamed, fainted and slid ungracefully to the floor.

"I think 'tis time ye got a new mistress, Tavis MacLagan. That one is a bit cow-hearted."

The voice was painfully familiar and, in confusion Tavis looked at the small knot of monks near the door of the hall, thinking that his liquor-soddened mind was playing tricks on him. "Storm?" he whispered.

"Shocking behavior before men of the cloth," drawled one of the tall monks as the group moved to the table, nearly double their number in Tavis's men hovering behind them.

"Is no one going to pick up the lady?" asked a high, girlish voice.

"What lady?" drawled the monk that Tavis was sure was Storm. "I see none."

Just when Tavis felt inclined to succinctly demand who his visitors were they pushed their hoods back. There was no mistaking Storm and Phelan. Tavis knew the ale had fogged his mind when he realized that he had not noticed the distinct lack of height of several of the monks.

"What? No greeting? All wenched out, are ye?" Storm gave into impulse and kicked at the unconscious Katerine.

Storm was in an icy fury. She had not really expected him to have remained celibate. Nevertheless, it was not a theory she had wanted to see verified before