"The hell he did."
Then his lips were on hers, hard, warm, brutal with need. He was pulling the pins from her hair, muttering words in a language she didn't understand as his lips moved from her mouth to her cheeks to her throat in hot, bruising caresses. She could feel the soft, silky texture of his beard as it brushed her flesh, and his big hands were now on her shoulders, kneading, learning, then on her throat, the swell of her breasts . . . She was wrong, they were not caresses. It was like being devoured, absorbed. He pulled her into the hollow of his hips, and she felt the shocking hardness of his arousal against her softness. Shocking and yet right. Mother of heaven, there must be something evil in her heart for this to feel so right.
Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders in wild disarray; his fingers were combing through it. He lifted his head. "You want me." His words came fiercely. "Me."
"Aye." Nothing seemed more clear at the moment. "Aye, Kartauk."
His arms crushed her back to him, robbed her of breath. Desire. Lust. Safety. How could she feel so safe while tottering on this precipice? It was going to happen. She had thought she was prepared, but now she was trembling, frightened as a child taking its first step. "What do I do?" she gasped. "Help me. Do you want me to do the things you told me to do with Ian?"
He stiffened against her, his hands halting in midmotion in the thickness of her hair. "I told you not to—" A shudder ran through him. "Christ, I wish you hadn't said that." He pushed her away from him.
She immediately tried to move closer.
"No." He grated through set teeth as he kept her at bay. "No, Margaret."
"Why not?" She could not believe he was rejecting her. "I thought—"
"So did I." He drew a deep breath as his hands slowly unclasped her shoulders and dropped away from her. He took a step back. "I thought about it all night. I've been thinking about it since you started this lunacy weeks ago." He turned and moved jerkily back to the worktable. "Sit down."
She stood there, staring at him, feeling more uncertain then ever before in her life. "Why? You find me pleasing. I know I'm no Ellen MacTavish, but you're not unmoved by me."
"Unmoved? God in heaven, that's true enough." His voice was hoarse as he sat down at the worktable. "Yes, you could say that you move me."
She started toward him. "Then it seems unreasonable not to—"
"Stop right there," he said sharply. "Don't come near me."
She halted and smiled tremulously, "If you don't find me distasteful, then why do you not strike me with your divine lightning?"
"Because you're not like other women."
"I believe I have the required limbs, eyes, and breasts."
"You also have a tender heart, a priest's conscience, and the softness of a feather mattress beneath that cool exterior." He shook his head. "I cannot hurt you. I will not hurt you."
"But you want me."
"I love you."
Her eyes widened in shock.
"You're surprised?" His smile was bittersweet. "Oh yes, I knew from that first moment you walked out of the castle into the courtyard and started ordering me about."
"You could not." Her voice was barely audible even to herself. "I'm no Helen of Troy to so bedazzle men."
"You bedazzled me. You shone like purest gold in the sunlight, all strength, courage, and loving heart. You still shine with it. At times, when you're weary or discouraged, it's only a dull glow, but at other times you sparkle and shimmer as if—"
"Fine words," she said shakily.
"Words you don't want to hear. Do you think I don't know that?" His big hand clenched slowly into a fist on the table. "I'm allowed lust, but not love. I regret you cannot have one without the other. That's what I tried to tell you yesterday. We've come too close." He met her gaze. "Have the honesty to admit it."
His words were probing through the barriers she had raised, battering her. "I ... do not deny I lust after you."
"No, lust is safe. Not good, but safe. I knew when you walked in here this morning you'd come to terms with it. But love is a betrayal of Ian. You won't face that, will you?"
"What are you saying? I love Ian." The pain was growing too great. She closed her eyes to shut it out, shut him out. "I do love him."
"Yes, I know you do." He paused. "But you love me too."
Her lids flew open. "No!"
A flicker of anger crossed his face. "Dammit, admit it. Give me that much at least."
"A woman cannot love two men."
"Because all the poets and troubadours babble that there is only one great love in every life? Bah, there are many kinds of love, and we could have the very best kind." His brown eyes glittered in his taut face. "We could have lust and humor and understanding. We're the same kind of people, two halves of a whole."
She shook her head. "We're nothing alike."
"The only difference between us is the conscience that chains you to—"
"I don't want to hear this."
"Because you don't want to believe it. I told you there would be no mercy." He smiled bitterly. "But I've extended you more mercy than I thought possible. I've given you three long years of keeping the flame turned low so it would not burn you. I could have taken you a moment ago, and I promise I would have made sure you knew what you felt was more than lust."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because I didn't want to see the look in your eyes when you realized you had just committed adultery with the man you love. You're a strong woman, but I don't think you could have survived that blow."
"I don't love you. I won't love you," she said desperately.
"You do, but we will talk no more about it at present." He shifted his massive shoulders as if shrugging off a burden. "You say Ian wants a seal of his own? Then let's set about it. We'll have to do—"
"What are you talking about?" she asked blankly. "A seal?"
He nodded brusquely. "I've decided we'll continue as we have been. You've proved surprisingly valuable as an apprentice, a little too talkative, but I can tolerate that fault."
He was pretending what had gone before had not happened. "I can't just ignore—"
"Of course you can. Ian wants you to be amused. I believe I can guarantee to distract you. As for the other" —he met her gaze—"I'll wait until you make the first move."
"I'll never make it."
"But how can you not when you need a child for Ian?" He smiled sadly. "Poor Margaret, what a quandary."
"It's different now. I could not . . ." She lifted a trembling hand to her temple. "I cannot think."
"I do not ask you to think. I would far prefer you to only feel. Someday, if I'm fortunate, you'll oblige me by shutting down that pesky conscience and letting yourself take what we both need."
She shook her head.
He shrugged. "Then I'm no worse off than before, am I? Nothing has really changed."
How could he say that? Everything had changed. Each nerve and muscle in her body seemed tuned to his every response, every gesture. "You're right, I shouldn't have come here," she said shakily.