“Let what happen again?” she asked, looking up at him. Her expression was so kind, her eyes so understanding.
“I cannae lose someone else I love,” he said, his voice low and harsh.
She nodded. “Now I know why you joined Benedict in the war. You wanted to die.”
Duncan did not speak, only stared at her.
“Because if you are not willing to risk losing what you love then you are not really living.”
He hadn’t been living for a long time. He had just been pretending to live. During the war, he’d taken every risk. He’d taken a good deal after the war too, but it seemed pointless. If God had wanted him dead, Duncan would be dead. There had been more than enough opportunities to strike Duncan down. But God wanted him alive, wanted him to continue to suffer. Yes, he’d gone to London, as his mother had commanded, and searched for a bride, but he hadn’t really tried. He’d scowled and stomped around so that every lady who met him would be scared away.
Every lady but one.
Duncan looked at Ines. “Go inside,” he said.
She shook her head. “I have words, Duncan, but my words are not any you have not heard before. I am sure you tell them to yourself. The death of your father was not your fault.”
Duncan took a shaky breath. How many people had said that to him? His mother? His uncle? His sister. Even James. But Duncan had never said it to himself. Could never believe it.
“But you need to say the words,” Ines said. “And believe them in here.” She lifted a hand and tapped his chest. Her touch seemed to burn through the layers of his clothing. “Only then will you be willing to risk the hurt again.”
“And when did ye become so wise, lass?”
“I have lost too. When I left with Catarina, I lost my mother and sisters and friends—the village full of people I had known all of my life. I lost my father, though he was not a good man. I still miss them, but I have met others who I have come to care about—friends in Lisbon and Barcelona.” She tapped his chest again. “Friends in London. There has been pain but also joy.”
Duncan understood what she meant. The men of Draven’s troop had become like his brothers. Losing many of them had caused him pain but knowing them had also given him joy.
He hadn’t cared for any of them like he cared for Ines. He hadn’t risked getting too close to any of them, knowing anyone he cared for could be snatched away with the flick of a blade or the firing of a pistol.
“I love you, Duncan,” Ines said, and her words were like that pistol ball slamming into his heart. “And if you do not love me back, then that will hurt. I have been hurting for the past few days, afraid you did not care.”
Duncan hated to hear that he’d hurt her. He hadn’t considered that while he was trying to protect his own heart, he had caused her pain.
“I do care,” he said. He put his arm about her waist and pulled her to him. He couldn’t seem to resist the pull of her, the warmth of her body and the softness of it against his. He needed her touch, had missed it so much.
“Show me,” she said. “I want to love you. I want to feel what it is to really live. If only for one night.”
Her words robbed him of breath. Desire slammed through him so hard, he had to close his eyes to maintain control. And then he wondered why he was fighting it. He wanted her. Almost from the first time they’d met, their joining had been inevitable, and now it would be so much more than an act of lust. For once he wanted to risk something more than his body. He wanted to risk his heart.
Duncan pushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear, feeling her tremble as he touched her. “Are ye sure, lass?”
She smiled. “With you, I am always sure.”
He bent and swept her into his arms, causing her to gasp then giggle. “What are you doing, senhor?”
“Sweeping ye off yer feet.”
He carried her to the side of the house, used his toe to open a back door, and started up the rarely used staircase. Ines was no great weight in his arms, and still his heart pounded as though he carried a load of bricks. He was not afraid of making love to her. He’d been with other women. But he had never given any of them his heart, and he had known since the first time he kissed Ines that if—no, when, it had always been a matter of when—their bodies came together it would be a melding of not only flesh but also hearts and souls.
He did not know if his heart was strong enough to risk loving her back. But he didn’t know if it was strong enough not to love her either.
He reached the top of the stairs and turned to the first door on his right. He’d often used these stairs to sneak out at night when he’d been a boy as they had been so close to his room. Now he shoved a foot against his door, and it flung open. He kicked it closed behind him then walked to his bed and laid Ines on the coverlet.
His impulse was to fall down beside her, strip her, and take her then. He made himself slow down. He needed a moment to slow the pounding of his heart and the shaking of his hands. Duncan went to the lamp, feeling for the tinderbox beside it and lighting a match before touching it to the wick inside the lamp. He opened the shutter further and turned to Ines. He wanted to see her, and he was not disappointed. She was beautiful—lying on the bed, her hair half falling out of the simple style she’d worn, her cheeks pink, and her eyes dark with anticipation. Duncan went to her, kneeling on the bed and looking down at her. She lifted her arms to him, and he went into them willingly.
She was small, but she held him so tightly, so fiercely. His mouth found hers, teasing her lips until she opened for him and he could stroke inside, tasting her. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her was intoxicating, but it was also right. It was as though he was meant to kiss this woman, to touch this woman. As though he had been waiting all of his life to find her.
With a low growl, he rose to his knees and looked down at her, her dark eyes, her red cheeks, her now-swollen lips. His gaze drifted to her dress. He was uncharacteristically nervous. His hands fumbled at her bodice, searching for pins or tapes or whatever the hell women used to keep their underthings from showing, but Ines shooed his hands away.
“Let me.” She sat, and he groaned. She had that look in her eye that told him she would happily torture him. Slowly, she drew the first dress pin out, placed it on the table next to his bed, then smiled up at him. Oh, this was sweet torture.
“Dinnae stop now, lass.”
She reached for another, drew that one out, and placed it neatly beside the last.
“Ines,” Duncan said. “Do ye mean tae kill me? My heart is racing like a horse after a long run.”
“Sim. It is for all the times you teased me.” Her voice, low and husky, caused heat to surge through his loins.
Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I can persuade ye tae hurry up a bit.” He might not know much about how a dress was put together, but he knew what was under one. He sat back, took one of her feet and made short work of her boot. He dropped it on the floor then discarded the second boot. Ines set another pin beside the first two.
Duncan reached under her skirts, found her garters, and loosened one. He tried not to feel how soft her skin was, how silky and tempting. Gritting his teeth, he rolled her stocking down. Ines had paused, with her hand over her heart to watch him. He slid the stocking over her foot, but instead of reaching for the other, he held her foot. Her foot was small in his big hand, and he imagined if she felt anything like him, her feet ached from all the walking they’d done. Lightly, he pushed a thumb into the pad of her foot, and she moaned. The sound of her pleasure almost undid him. It was an addictive sound. He wanted more and more. He continued massaging, working his way over her foot, and watching the way her eyes closed and her shoulders drooped with relaxation.