Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  “What you’ve not been told,” Nella of the Marsh was saying, “is that these two gallants have kindly offered us an escort.” The words out, she looked so pleased Iain wondered where her loyalty lay. “We are most blessed,” she added.

  “You are mad.” Madeline stared at her, disbelieving.

  “You know that isn’t so,” Nella returned, clucking like a mother hen. “Dinnae look so stricken. See you-”

  “I see trickery.”

  “Pah!” Her friend waved aside her objection. “‘Tis all good. For propriety’s sake and our own safety, these kind men have suggested posing as our husbands until we’ve reached our destination.”

  “Nae.” Madeline shook her head, her eyes darkening to a deep, mossy green, the lovely golden flecks completely gone.

  Iain stared at her, watching her bristle.

  Were he not the reason for her agitation, he would have laughed. Never had he seen a lass come anywhere close to the fury of his own unleashed temper.

  Not until now.

  Her indignant gaze flashed between the three of them before settling on her companion.

  “We do not need an escort,” she said, her voice growing stronger on each word. “I will pretend I did not hear the husband part of such foolery.”

  Clutching Amicia’s arisaid so tightly her knuckles whitened, and with high color staining her cheeks, she looked every inch an unconquerable Celtic warrior princess.

  “Do not betray me.” She set her hands on her hips, her gaze locked on her friend’s. “You know we must travel alone, and why.”

  Nella folded her arms, apparently every bit as brave and daring. “And you, my la-” she broke off, her own face flaming. “You cannae say I e’er approved. Two lone women traipsing across the land!”

  She held Madeline’s narrow-eyed stare. “No matter the reason.”

  “What is this about?” Iain cut in, remembering too late the danger of provoking anyone caught in the throes of such white-hot anger.

  Madeline rounded on him. “Nothing I care to discuss.” She scowled at him, her throat and the fine upper curves of her breasts wearing the same becoming flush as her cheeks. “Not even in the face of your gallantry, which I shall never forget and will always cherish.”

  “Then trust me.” He lifted his hands, palms outward. “You have my word.” He glanced at Gavin. “My sworn oath that no harm shall come to either of you from this hour onward.

  “No’ so long as you are in our care,” he added, wanting to reassure her. “We shall see you safely to the nunnery of your choice.”

  “Nae.” She backed away, her swift retreat causing her to stumble over a toppled headstone.

  She caught herself, but frowned.

  “Whatever have I done to be so tested!” she cried, a telltale brightness in her eyes. “Leave me be, all of you,” she pleaded, and swirled Amicia’s arisaid across her shoulders. “I cannot bear much more.”

  With a last, furious glance at all of them, she spun about and ran from the kirkyard.

  Gavin whistled and turned aside. Shaking his head, he took Nella’s elbow and began guiding her toward his horse. Iain watched them go, knowing without asking that she’d ride with Gavin to MacNab’s.

  He also knew he’d not ride anywhere without his particular bane nestled securely before him – whether she desired to accompany him or not.

  Keeping her with him was for her own good, he told himself, starting after her.

  He reached her in a few easy strides.

  “Lass, you have just caused me to break the one code of honor I ne’er thought I would,” he grumbled, and swept her into his arms.

  Scowling fiercely, he strode back through the kirkyard gate, carrying her toward his horse. With each step he tried not to think about the gravity of his deed.

  For not only had he just abducted a woman, he’d also rubbed grime all over the last untarnished corner of his pride.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Many hours later, Madeline knelt on a patch of heather-free ground and brushed at her rumpled skirts. She also dashed icy spring water on her face and arms. Above all, she wondered where her dignity had gone.

  In truth, she didn’t know.

  Her entire body ached. To her mind, reason enough to ask her shadow man to stop so she could use the water’s chill to soothe her weary bones. She needed these spring-side ablutions. But never had she washed with a man so near.

  It didn’t matter that she was fully clothed. Or that he kept his back to her.

  She was still too aware of him.

  Nor could she fault him for remaining close. Thieves, scoundrels, and worse, did roam the land, even this pleasant area of wooded slopes and empty glens. However tranquil-seeming, the Scottish realm was presently a place of unrest and lawlessness.

  Iain MacLean had reminded her of the danger by tightening his arm about her middle when just a while ago, they’d passed a ruined homestead. The cottage’s fire-scorched walls and blackened roof thatch, the terrible desolation, underscored his caution.

  Deep in her soul, despite her annoyance, she was glad of his protection.

  She wasn’t a fool.

  “I was thinking about the cottage we passed.” She glanced at Iain’s broad, plaid-draped back. “It was still smoking.”

  “Aye.”

  “I know what that means.”

  “Indeed.” He raised his drawn sword, tossing it high and catching the hilt as it fell. “Why do you think I’m guarding you with my steel rather than admiring the cloud shadows on the hills?”

  “If the men who burned the cottage are near, one sword will not do much if they attack us.”

  “Sweet lass, you surprise me.” His tone revealed he was smiling. “Have you ne’er seen a Highlander fight?”

  “Not one against many.” She frowned, almost wishing he’d turn around to see. “Besides, we are in the Highlands. It follows that the cottage burners were also Highland men.”

  To her annoyance, he laughed. “My pardon. I asked the wrong question.”

  “Oh?”

  “For sure.” His voice still held a smile. “I should have asked if you’ve e’er seen a MacLean fight.”

  Despite herself, Madeline’s own lips twitched in a smile. This time she was glad he couldn’t see. But she saw him and her foolish heart fluttered.

  “Can it be, sir, that you are arrogant?”

  “So some say,” he admitted, his tone darkening again. “I would say pride is the least of my sins.”

  “Is another tossing women over your shoulder and riding off with them?”

  “I have tossed more than a few lassies o’er my shoulder, but only to carry them up a turret stair.”

  “I see.” Madeline narrowed her eyes, sure the number of such conquests was huge. Perhaps innumerable. “You ravished them, I suppose?”

  “Perhaps they devoured me?” He shifted then, and she was certain his shoulders shook.

  The rogue was laughing at her.

  “I see nothing funny about seduction.”

  “Maybe you should. A bit of levity is good for the soul.” And I am trying hard to keep your mind off the danger you’re in.

  Madeline heard his unspoken words with her gift, a shadow crossing over her heart as she grasped their meaning.

  “You think the cottage burners are near?” She shivered, and not from the spring’s icy water.

  “They could be.” He didn’t lie.

  “Why didn’t you look for them when we passed the cottage? If you can cut down so many men on your own?”

  “I saw their tracks.” He thrust his sword tip into the ground, leaned on its hilt. “They rode off across the hills, heading in the opposite direction. No’ that the bastards couldn’t have circled back. Truth is, they didnae concern me.

  “I knew they were gone.” He paused, heaved a sigh. “I had, and have, other battles to wage.”

  “You mean me.”

  “I mean keeping you safe.”

  Not quite the a
nswer she’d wanted. But his words proved her plight.

  At once, Silver Leg’s cold, hood-eyed face flashed through her mind and she shuddered. Shifting her position before the spring, she did her best to close her mind to the horrors he represented. She also dashed more cold water onto her face, staving off the tears she’d sworn not to shed for her father until she’d seen his death avenged.

  She glanced again at her rescuer.

  Master of the Highlands.

  Despite his roguish claims, he waited beside his grazing horse. Nary a muscle on the whole tall length of him moved, his entire body so still he might as well be carved of stone. He stood with his legs braced apart, his hand on his sword hilt.

  Madeline studied him, certain he’d becharmed her. How else could he have slipped in and out of her thoughts for weeks, even haunting her dreams? Why had they been drawn to Glasgow Cathedral at the same fate-changing moment?

  Was it magic?

  She wished she knew.

  Never had her gift bound her so strongly to anyone. The feelings of others that she picked up now and then were fleeting, then gone.

  Now, with this man…

  She felt her resistance crumbling. Even the disturbing undercurrents of their conversation, the threat of possible danger, slipped from her thoughts. She did think of him, her gaze sliding over him, admiring his dark good looks…

  The evening breeze riffled his hair, an unseen caress along the sleek raven strands. Warmth curled low in her belly, tingly and pleasurable. A fierce urge to touch him assailed her, the same wish she’d felt so often since he’d abandoned his pilgrim’s garb. Especially strong now, the sensation spiraled through her with such intensity her fingertips itched with eager, lustful need.

  Desire, she knew.

  A woman’s passionate yearning to run her hands over the bare, well-hewn flesh of a bonnie man. She’d never experienced such a longing, but she did now.

  She had no business wanting to touch him. No right to imagine his glossy blue-black hair spilling over her palms, through her greedy, welcoming fingers.

  A forbidden delight she burned to experience if only once. And soon, while she still had time for such indulgences.

  When she reached the nunnery, took the veil…

  She glanced aside, looked out across endless heather-clad hills to a distant loch, its shining surface a deep steely blue in the gloaming. So familiar a landscape, so new and bewildering the feelings this man awakened in her.

  She wasn’t a wanton.

  She was a lady, born and bred. Nor should she be falling for any man, regardless of station.

  Yet…

  She wanted this one.

  Scarce recognizing herself, she tightened her grasp on her bunched skirts, her breath catching at her reaction to him. She closed her eyes, hoping the heady sensations, the ache for what couldn’t be, would stop when she reopened her eyes.

  But they didn’t.

  If anything, they increased.

  A sweet throbbing close to the very center of her femininity sent ripples to every corner of her body. Even her toes grew warm and tingly. The intimacy of holding her skirts hitched about her hips with him so near, stirred her, too – regardless of the reason she did so.

  She released a sigh, and felt more brazen than the Abercairn laundresses she’d occasionally seen slipping into dark corners with well-muscled, hot-eyed warriors.

  But she wasn’t a serving lass and did not have such freedom.

  She had duties.

  So she inhaled deeply of the chill evening air, taking strength from its comforting earthiness, a bracing blend of damp heather, gorse, and quartz-shot stone, until the tingles stopped.

  Only so could she concentrate on what she needed to do. Or at least focus on one of Iain MacLean’s less distracting qualities.

  Such as what a patient man he seemed.

  Thoughtful, too, for he’d urged his horse off the track the moment she’d voiced her wish to bathe. He’d indulged her without complaint, striking ever farther up the sloping hillside despite the rough terrain. He’d picked a tedious path, urging his garron, a surefooted Highland beast, across slick patches of peaty ground and through thickest heather. They’d even skirted bogs and outcroppings of large, lichen-covered boulders until they’d found a thicket blessed with a spring.

  And now that they’d found one, other problems arose. In particular, her knowledge that his heart belonged to another.

  Guilt pinched her as she shifted her feet in the burn’s rushing water. If only the spring’s cold would soothe more than her travel-weary legs – such as chill her attraction to Iain MacLean. Perhaps ice her heart so it wouldn’t pound so rapidly. Freeze her thoughts so she wouldn’t dwell on what might have been if they’d met earlier, before he’d given his love to another. As well, a time before she’d set off on her own path of destruction.

  But they were where they were.

  And so…

  She drew a long breath, did her best to ignore hurtful things she couldn’t change.

  “We still have a good score of miles to ride, lass. You’ve been bathing a while.” Iain’s deep voice came to her from where he stood at the thicket’s edge. His tone no longer holding a smile, he sounded tense. “Can you no’ be quicker?”

  “I am almost finished.” Madeline scooped up more of the icy water, splashing her face. “I just need to wash-” she stopped before she could say her breasts. For sure, she wouldn’t declare that she’d just washed her womanly bits. “A moment, please,” she called to him. “I only need to dry off.”

  “Good, then, for I am no’ a wilted dotard,” came his reply, and even she, innocent as she was, didn’t mishear the strain behind his words – or misread the likely reason.

  “Make haste,” he added. “Have done so we can be away.”

  “We two do not make a ‘we.’” She pushed to her feet, all too aware of her foolish denial. “Nothing binds us except an unfortunate incident.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You know it is.” She eyed him sourly, almost wishing him podgy and cross-eyed rather than so appealing. She willed him to stay put as she tossed aside the clump of sphagnum moss he’d given her to use as a washing cloth.

  “I am done.” She smoothed her skirts. “Thank you for the sphagnum.”

  “A pleasure.” He turned, the crooked corner of his mouth hinting at a smile that would prove dangerous if it spread. “You’ll appreciate it even more when I tend your rope burns tonight.” His gaze flicked to her ankles, her wrists, and then lit briefly on her hips or somewhere thereabouts. “Sphagnum moss works wonders on the soreness plaguing a certain part of you.”

  The ground dipped beneath Madeline’s feet. He meant her buttocks. “I am not sore,” she denied. “Not at all.”

  “Och, nae?” He cocked a brow. “Then why are you standing bent at the waist and with a hand pressed against your hip?”

  “Oh!” Madeline straightened so quickly she couldn’t stop a wince.

  “Indeed.” The corner of his mouth lifted a bit more. “I admire your spirit. Many ladies would have crumpled long before now, given what you’ve been through. That is good as we still have a long road ahead.”

  Madeline took a step backward. “No, we do not. I told you-”

  “Whether it pleases you or nae, lass, we shall give ourselves as a ‘we’ so long as our paths run together,” he said, striding forward, proving as she already knew that he wasn’t a man to cross.

  He towered over her, looming so near she had to tilt her head to peer up at him. “As for your soreness – and I ken you’ll be hurting – so long as you are in my care, I see myself responsible for your comfort as well as your safety.”

  “I am fine,” Madeline blurted, denying the fiery pain biting into the insides of her thighs, her buttocks. In truth, every inch of her ached and burned.

  She could suffer the pain – others dear to her had borne worse.

  She just wished she could ignore how thrilling some v
ixen inside her found the thought of his hands smoothing salve onto her bared flesh. Any part of her, even her bottom where she hurt so much she doubted she’d be able to sit comfortably for ages.

  “A sphagnum tincture soothed onto your – er – hurts will ease the discomfort and help you sleep.” He smiled. “You needn’t look so stricken. I’ll prepare the salve for you. I didnae say I would apply it.”

  “Oh.” Madeline blinked. “I didn’t think … I didn’t mean-”

  “Nae?” He touched one knuckle to her nose. “See here, lass. Some may tell you otherwise, but I am no’ an ogre. Do you see a tail? Horns?” Stepping back, he held out his arms, turned in a slow circle. “I shall look after you as best I can until the hour I deliver you to where’er it is you were heading before our paths crossed.”

  “I do not care what others say of you.” She stood straighter, bracing to add the words she must. “You may leave me at the nearest convent. It matters not which one.”

  “It should.” He angled his head, studying her. “Greatly so.”

  “You are not a real pilgrim. What do you know of nunneries?”

  “More than you, I suspect.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” She wanted to say more but it was difficult to think with him so close. “Nunneries are for women.”

  “So they are.” He gave her another of his crooked smiles. “That is reason enough for every man in the land to know what goes on behind cloistered walls. What matters is why a man desires such knowledge.”

  He leaned in, the smile gone. “Some will have sisters or other family there and will wish to know them safe. Others have interests of a different nature.”

  “I do believe you wish to frighten me.”

  “No’ at all.” He held her gaze. “My only wish is to protect you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I cannae bear to see harm come to any woman.”

  The wind shifted then, wrapping his scent around her. Whether his soap or just him, the resulting clean and earthy spiciness teased her senses. Her belly fluttered and she swayed a bit, perhaps from the sharpening wind. Either way, he reached for her, grasping her just above her elbows. The warmth of his hands slipped through her clothes to become fine, tingling currents that raced up and down her arms.