"Then I must see that he does not come near ye, cousin."
"Ah, Phelan, 'tis good of ye, but nay. There is little telling how a man will act when his blood is hot. I will not have ye harmed trying to save something that most all at home will have thought lost to me ere now. An he does come to my chambers, ye are not to argue overmuch with the man. Leave that to me." She swallowed her pain as she added, "We may speak on a problem that will ne'er arise. He has his mistress now."
"She did not stir him enough to make him leave go of ye," Phelan said quietly.
"He was not expecting her," Storm argued, ignoring her own increasing nervousness. "Now to sleep," she commanded, knowing it was easier said than done, especially when her mind kept drifting to Tavis.
* * * * *
Thoughts of Storm kept whirling through Tavis's increasingly muddled mind. Drinking and jesting with his brothers and the other men did little to keep his desire for Storm at bay. It had been his hope to drink enough to enable himself to pass into a deep, dreamless sleep, but that plan seemed to be failing. All that was happening was that his mind was turning more and more to Storm, conjuring up images that made him close his eyes against his need. She was a fever in his blood and he was already at the crisis point.
"Ah, Tavis, ye are a lucky bastard," teased a none too sober Sholto, "with twa lovelies to choose from."
"Care an I comfort the one ye dinnae visit?" queried Iain with a grin.
"Nay. Ye ken where Kate usually sleeps."
"Och, weel, I was hoping 'twould be the other," sighed Iain, his turquoise eyes alight with laughter.
"Mayhaps I'll take them both," mused Tavis, his laughter blending with that of the others.
"Ye would ne'er see the dawn. One o' the lasses would kill ye for being with the other."
"Sholto's right," Donald laughed, a burly man who was their first cousin. "I would put my coin on the wee lass from Hagaleah. She be a feisty bit o' woman. 'Tis the hair, I ken."
Refilling his tankard, Sholto sighed heartily. "I would fair love to see it down and free, out o' those neat braids. I wager 'twould be a glorious sight for a man to see."
"I'll remember to tell ye how it looks," remarked Tavis as he finished his drink and stood up.
In a low voice, so that the others could not hear, Iain said, "Recall, ye swore nay to touch the lass unless she be willing. 'Tis a small thing Father asks, a small pleasure to give him when he's ailing so."
"Aye, she'll be willing." Tavis frowned. "What do ye think ails our father? He grows even weaker."
Iain nodded. "Aye, aye, he does, but there seems naught to do but watch him fade. God's wounds, but it makes a man feel helpless. He has nay lived a bad life. He deserves a better death, nay this slow one."
There was little Tavis could say, for the same thing troubled him. He gripped Iain's shoulder in a brief gesture of sympathy and understanding. However, as Tavis made to leave, Iain grasped him by the arm. With one brow raised in silent query, Tavis met Iain's somber look, noticing that the man was far more sober than he.
"Dinnae hurt the lass, Tavis. Eldon she may be, but she's a bonnie wee thing, sprung from the loins of a man I respect, though he be my foe, and 'twould grieve me if she suffered at your hands."
Leaning down so that only Iain heard him, Tavis replied, "I dinnae intend to hurt the lass."
"I ken I cannae ask ye to leave her be, to nay dishonor her."
"Ye ken right. Few will believe she's nay been touched ere she leaves here. 'Tis a fever with me."
Nodding, Iain released him. Grinning in response to many a ribald remark, Tavis left the hall. He headed to his own chambers, for he wished to bathe. A part of him hoped that a hot bath would ease his ache, cause him to seek his own bed and leave Storm Eldon alone, but he doubted it would.
In a small chamber between his and Iain's quarters, Tavis had his bath set up. The lack of a window, the small size of the room and the fireplace kept the room draft-free, a perfect place to bathe. As he washed, he fought a hard inner battle, but neither his conscience nor his body won. Stepping out of the tub to towel himself dry, he merely swore not to force Storm, to cease if she resisted him too vehemently.
She was his prisoner, he rationalized. He had a right to do as he pleased with her. Then, too, he had no intention of hurting her, only giving her pleasure. There had been the flicker of a response when he had kissed her, so he felt he could do that. She had also shown no true dislike of him in the week she had been at Caraidland. He simply could no longer silently suffer the aching need to possess her.
He stepped into his room to find his robe. As he picked it up off a chair, Katerine sat up in his bed, bringing a harsh oath to his lips. Putting on his robe, he strode to the bed.
"What in the devil's name are ye doing
