The Thistle and the Rose(22)

A short time later, sitting on the great bed with Kit, Celia was laughing out loud at the baby's antics. She had never imagined how much fun a seven-month-old could be. Kit had just finished pulling himself up to a rather wobbly standing position, a fist full of Celia's hair in each hand, and had now begun to jump up and down with the bubbling joyous laughter only an infant can make.

Celia loved these moments. It was at times like this that she felt so connected with Kit. Lady Caithness be damned, it was at times like this that she felt she could be a real mother.

Ellen had gone downstairs to get dinner for them both. Celia had suggested going to the kitchens herself, but Ellen had jumped at the chance of going. When Celia had slyly mentioned that perhaps Ellen could check on Runt's condition while she was downstairs, the blush that had arisen in Ellen's fair skin had confirmed her suspicions.

Celia had sensed the attraction between the two. She was glad, for she knew Runt would take care of Ellen. But more importantly, Celia had seen a new liveliness in Ellen that she hadn't seen before. And the security that the Campbells could offer was what Ellen needed in her life.

But Celia knew her too well. Ellen would never back out on their plans now. Once they were safe at Argyll, though, she could talk Ellen into returning to Runt. That was the least she could do for her. When the time was right, Celia decided, she would speak to Colin about it.

Kit had been mouthing Celia's face, planting the sloppiest of kisses, and was now using her chin as a teething toy, when the knock at the door forced her to break off the play. Putting the baby on her hip, and laughing as she attempted to wipe off her wet face, Celia opened the door for Ellen.

“I think you're right about weaning Kit,” she said, pulling open the door as Kit grabbed at the neckline of her dress front. “He's definitely st...”

The huge figure leaning in the doorway was not Ellen. Behind Colin, one of the kitchen workers stood with a platter of food. Celia's questioning eyes traveled from the food back to Colin's relaxed stance and up to his handsome face. Damn it, he was doing it to her again. The way he looked at her made her heart race. His wild mane of thick black hair, his clean-shaven bronze face, the shimmering gleam of his gray eyes, the broad muscular frame that strained at the confines of his clothing...

“I never did feed you properly, this afternoon,” Colin said wryly.

It was good that he had prepared that line in advance. Eyeing the beauty before him, Colin's mind emptied of every thought but one. How could a dress so innocently plain, so stylistically simple, be so sensually provocative, so exquisitely commanding on this woman standing in the open doorway.

“Where's Ellen?” Celia said pointedly, shaking the giant out of his silent reverie.

“Are you going to let us in, or should we eat out here in the hallway?” Colin said, recovering quickly.

Without waiting for an answer, Colin stepped across the threshold and put out both hands to the baby. Kit paused for only the briefest of moments, then dived forward into the warrior's outstretched arms. Celia was so stunned at the response that she hadn't time to restrain the move gracefully. She released the baby's legs, and Colin brought him snugly to his chest.

The warrior moved to the newly replaced chair before the fire and sat down, bouncing the delighted Kit on his knee. Colin was as stunned as Celia at the bairn's open acceptance of him—happily stunned.

“Jean,” Colin said without looking up from the child. “Put the food on the bed and bring the good chair and a bench from my room.”

Celia just stood there watching Colin and the babbling Kit, as Jean did as he was told. A moment later, after spreading the food on the bench, Jean left the room, closing the door behind him.

“So, they are going to stop feeding you, hmmm, my little man?” Colin asked, briefly casting his eye on Celia's low-cut dress. “Do not tell me you bit something you weren't supposed to bite? Let me tell you something, man to man. Women are so sensitive about the silliest things.”

“Give me that child, Colin Campbell,” Celia said, marching in his direction. “I'm not going to stand by while you corrupt this child with your ridiculous male...”

But Colin was up from his chair in a flash, the quick movement drawing squeals of laughter from the baby. “This might be my only chance to corrupt anybody,” Colin retorted, shielding the child with his body from Celia.

“Colin, you give that baby to me right now,” Celia demanded. “You are scaring him.”

Colin held the red-haired, gray-eyed, laughing baby high in the air, then lowered him, nuzzling Kit's little button nose with his own. Kit reached up and tried to grab the giant's twinkling gray eyes. “Aye, he is a timid little thing. Just like his mother.”

Hearing that, Celia snatched Kit out of Colin's hands and held the squirming infant tight to her breast.

“Colin, I asked you where Ellen is. What are you doing here?”

Colin ignored the questions and began to serve up portions of the dinner from the platter. “Come and sit down and I'll feed you. You haven't eaten much today, have you?”

“If my memory serves me, sir,” Celia responded, moving closer to him. “You are not to be trusted.”

“Celia...Celia...” Colin protested comically, his face projecting the most pathetic anguish. “You cut me deeply. Besides, what have you got to worry about? Your little warrior there will protect you.”

“I want you to know, Lord Colin, Kit comes from a very distinguished line of warriors,” Celia said, giving her attention to the squirming bundle in her arms.

“As distinguished as a quarter-blood English Lowlander can get,” Colin cracked, adding directly to the baby, “No offense, little fellow.”

“You may bend your knee to him yet, you pompous, piratical peacock.”

“Celia,” Colin said, taking hold of her shoulders and pushing her gently into the chair. “Sit.”

Before Celia could shift Kit into position where she'd have a free hand to eat with, Colin began to feed her.

“Colin Campbell, I'm not a baby that needs to be fed,” she said, her mouth full.

“It seems to me that you're going to need both hands free.” He grinned, nodding toward the baby who was busily, and successfully, undoing the laces that held the bodice of her dress together. “Not that I mind, particularly.”

“Kit!” Celia scolded, wrestling with the determined infant.

“Can I help you?” Colin asked innocently, enjoying her losing battle.

“Aye, you can,” she answered. “It's about time you did something productive.”

As she held Kit at arms length, Colin reached around the child and took hold of the laces himself.

“COLIN CAMPBELL!” she shouted, clutching the baby defensively to her chest, and slapping his busily successful hands away. “You're worse than he is!”

Colin laughed heartily, and Celia could not help herself from joining in, though hurriedly tightening the undone laces.

It flashed through Colin's mind that he loved this sense of companionship. He had come up to Celia's room to talk to her about the attack that morning and about the abbey by Argyll's castle. But that whole business now seemed somewhat less important. Never had Colin Campbell been one to put his own pleasure before business, but never had he enjoyed being with a woman as much as he did Celia. There was a freshness about her responses to his attentions...almost a naiveté.

“I knew it wouldn't be safe to eat with you,” Celia scolded, pretending to be angry. “Give me that spoon.”

Snatching it from his hand, Celia gave it to Kit, who immediately jammed the utensil into his mouth and contentedly gnawed away at it.

“I really would like to know how you bribed Ellen into letting you bring up the dinner.”

“It wasn't difficult, really,” Colin answered. “She's down feeding Runt, who had full use of his hands until he saw Ellen appear. I do not know that she's speeding his recovery along.”

“Ellen seems to be growing very fond of Runt. She was pretty anxious to check on him tonight. Is he any better?'

“With Ellen's beautiful face attending to him, he'll probably take forever to heal.”

Celia's glare of feigned jealousy in Colin's direction caught him up short.

“Not that I think she's beautiful, mind you,” Colin said. “She's Runt's type.”

Celia touched Kit’s soft hair with her chin. She was never one to bring attention to herself, but she simply had to ask.

“Really. And what's your type?” Celia whispered—thinking, hoping, knowing.

Colin's eyes traveled lingeringly from her auburn ringlets to the silky skin of her neck and shoulders. He gazed at the perfect symmetry of her slightly exposed, softly rounded breasts, at the slender taper of the waist, at the womanly fullness of her hips. His eyes engaged hers with an earnestness that silenced any complaint that she might have uttered, and when he answered, his voice was husky with feeling.

“You are.”

Celia now realized that undergoing Colin's searchingly tender gaze, she had stopped breathing.

Colin glided to her chair with the grace of a ship under sail. Dropping to one knee beside her, he slid one arm around the baby nestled in Celia's lap and used the other to gather her in.

There was no hesitation once their lips met. Since their encounter earlier in the day, each had been haunted by doubts about the reality of what they had felt, of what they had experienced. But what each of them was feeling now went beyond the physical attraction of the morning. And they both knew it.