Page 15 of Border Lord’s Bride

His kiss was everything she'd dreamed of. But suddenly it wasn't enough. She didn't want to be alone in her passion. She wanted him to love her in return. "Do your kisses come with an offer to be your wife?"

"I still haven't decided." The words were weighted as he held her away from him, as though he did not trust any further contact. He remained there for a moment longer, perfectly still, every muscle of his body rigid with tension before he stood. He moved for the door.

Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as she listened to his footsteps in the hall, heading farther and farther from her. When his steps faded to nothingness she cradled her head in her hands. What was wrong with her? The man she loved had finally kissed her, and kissed her like he'd enjoyed it very much.

Why did she have to want more?

A few moments later the girls surrounded Elizabeth, exclaiming over her injuries. She assured them she was well and encouraged them to continue with what they'd planned for the afternoon by decorating the hall.

The girls busied themselves, distributing the greens throughout the room, over the door lintels, and along the center of the wide wooden tables.

"Don't you want to help?" Iris asked Elizabeth as she decorated above the hearth with sprigs of holly and ivy.

"You're doing such a wonderful job," Elizabeth replied. "My head hurts me a little, so I'll enjoy watching you." It wasn't a total falsehood. Her head did hurt. The truth, however, was that she wasn't in the least enthusiastic about watching the girls transform the great hall into a holiday setting. Every moment she stayed in the room with them, her unease increased. What if Lucius sent her away?

She obviously wanted more than he was prepared to give her. Finally, she could take sitting quietly with her own thoughts no longer and made her apologies to the girls, then left the chamber and the festivities far behind.

She walked through the manor, her mind and her body reliving Lucius's kiss over and over in a torturous assault. Only two days until their marriage—a marriage that seemed less and less likely to happen. Was she prepared for the consequences if it did not?

Elizabeth shivered as she looked around her. Midwick was a lovely manor. The home she'd always dreamed of having. She gripped the railing and made her way upstairs, and slowly moved down the hallway to the next set of stairs at the end of the hall. The manor's rooms were spacious and airy, with brightly woven tapestries hung on the thick stone walls to block out the chill air so prevalent in Scotland in the wintertime.

She drifted past the three pairs of tall, narrow windows on the upper level. Late-afternoon light filtered through the glass, casting a golden glow at her feet. Drawn by the light, Elizabeth paused by one of the windows and stared wistfully at the landscape covered in snow, which seemed to go on forever. Lucius belonged here. He had always belonged here.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Lucius walked into her line of vision in the courtyard below, leading a large black horse. He was dressed in a tartan of red, blue, and green instead of in his earlier breeches and tunic. The Carrick plaid. With a fluid leap, the kilt-clad Scottish laird tossed himself onto the horse and rode from the courtyard alone.

Elizabeth turned away from the window. She'd driven him away again. With suddenly chilled fingers, she reached up and pulled the linen strip from her head. The bleeding had stopped, as had her dizziness. Perhaps she should leave the manor and forge out on her own while she had a chance to escape with a shred of her dignity intact.

As soon as the thought materialized, she tossed it away. She could never leave without saying good-bye. She knew what it felt like to be left behind with no explanation. She would not treat Lucius or his sisters that way.

She forced her mind away from the laird of the manor and back to the lovely architecture of Midwick. The end of the hallway drew Elizabeth's attention. She had never been up that staircase before. Pulled forward by her own curiosity, she mounted the stairs. At the top, she found herself in yet another hallway, with many doors on each side. Some were open, some closed, yet all the rooms looked as though they'd lain unused for decades.

A shaft of sunlight drew Elizabeth's attention to a place halfway down the hall. At the closed doorway she paused with her hand on the latch, suddenly suffering an odd premonition that she would be better off to leave this room alone. Yet her curiosity won over as she ignored the warning and pushed the latch down.

A musty scent assaulted her as she took her first step inside. A single window cast a bright splash of light into the center of the room, yet left the rest of the chamber in hazy shadow. Elizabeth took another step forward, then another, passing by furnishings that were covered with linen as well as cobwebs and dust.

Grime dimmed the floor. Sheer, lacy webs surrounded unlit candles in the chandelier above her. Despite their linen coverings, Elizabeth could see that a large bed sat in the center of the room along with several chests and a large wardrobe.

After the initial mustiness of the chamber permeated her senses, Elizabeth also thought she detected the faint scent of cinnamon. Lucius? Could this have once been his chamber before he'd left to join the Templars? Had his family closed the entire wing, waiting to reopen it again once he returned?

The walls of the room were bare of tapestries. The only adornment was hidden behind a linen cloth, just like all the other furnishings.

Elizabeth paused before the cloth. For some reason she needed to see what lay hidden beneath. Gripping the corner of the dust-covered cloth, her heart rate quickened as she pulled the cloth away. Her astonished gaze swept the painting from top to bottom. Unbelievable. Nay, it could not be. "Who did this?" she whispered into the void of silence surrounding her.

She could not tear her gaze from the painting of herself reclining on a padded settee, wearing nothing but a slip of the Carrick tartan that covered her from the rise of her breasts to the tops of her thighs. She should have been offended by such a seductive display. Instead a warmth centered in her core and her breath hitched.

She'd never posed for such a work. Even so, the artist had flattered her. Long dark lashes veiled her large brown eyes, and her long tawny hair cascaded loose about her shoulders. Her expression was alive with humor and mischief.

She looked radiant, and decadent, and beautiful, but for whom?

Chapter Six

In the dim light of the chamber, Elizabeth stepped up to the painting. She had to know who had created the image of her. Had the artist signed the piece? As she drew near, she noted a dark scrawl in the right-hand corner. Holding her breath, she bent close: L.C.

Her heart stumbled in her chest. Why would he do such a thing, and from his memory, unless…? She couldn't finish the thought. Something warmed her inside.

Elizabeth stepped back from the painting with a smile and headed from the room. Since the moment she arrived here, she'd done everything wrong. She'd assumed she had no choice but force the issue of their marriage.

In that moment, a whole new world opened itself to her, a world where she was not destined to be in love with a man who would never love her back. Before she saw the painting she'd had no hope that he cared. But why else would he paint this portrait of her, especially wearing almost nothing at all, unless…?