Highland Fire

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  He caught her wrist and dragged her across his chest. Even now she was surprised by the strength in his grasp. “Be very careful, my lady. I expect a little respect from my wenches after a night like the last.”

  “Oh? Was last night any different from other nights, my lord?”

  “Disrespectful woman. Unlike every other night of your life, you spent last night in paradise. As did I.”

  “Heaven last night,” she said with a husky laugh, “hell on the morrow.”

  “This devil can be transformed into a saint by a single kiss from you, my lady.” He pulled her face close for a long, satisfying kiss. “Is this the way you have been awakened in the past?”

  With a giggle she replied, “I can truthfully say that I do not recall how I was awakened before I met you, my lord.”

  “If you had ever been this thoroughly kissed, I wager you would remember.”

  “Really?” She propped herself on her elbows and stared into his eyes. “Mayhap we should try it again, just to be certain.”

  He drew her close and nuzzled her lips until he groaned and, catching her by surprise, rolled until he pinned her beneath him.

  “Now, my lady,” he said, moving his mouth slowly, languidly along her throat, sending shivers of delight along her spine, “about that memory of yours.”

  She laughed as his mouth covered hers in a searing kiss. Her laughter became a low moan of pleasure as his hands, his lips, sent her once more tumbling into a world of pleasure.

  Morning sunlight spilled into the room, and still Megan and Kieran lingered in bed. Outside their room, in the hallways, in the sitting chambers, they could hear the sounds of activity as the servants went about their daily chores. The tantalizing fragrances of roasting meat and baking bread wafted from below stairs, making them aware of their need for food. But the hunger that gnawed at them could not be assuaged by bread and meat. They filled their hearts and souls with murmured words of endearment and whispered confidences. They laughed easily, as the tensions fell away. They feasted upon each other until they were filled to overflowing with love.

  Lying comfortably in Kieran’s arms, Megan barely moved when she heard the gentle knock upon the door to his sitting chamber.

  “My lord” came Aileen’s hushed voice.

  “Aye.” With his finger he traced the curve of Megan’s cheek to her jaw, then slowly across her lips. He swore when she laughingly bit him.

  “I did not wish to disturb you.” All the castle was abuzz with the knowledge that Lady Megan had not spent the night in her own bed.

  The little servant paused, then added, “I have prepared a bath in the sitting chamber. Your mother and the others have gathered in the refectory to break their fast.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a sly laugh Megan brought her lips to his throat and began to move her mouth slowly, seductively across Kieran’s chest.

  “My lord?” Aileen’s voice was muffled through the closed door.

  Kieran moaned softly as Megan’s lips tormented him. “Aye?”

  “Do you desire anything further?”

  “Nay.” He caught at Megan and hauled her upward until their lips were brushing. “Tell my guests I will join them in the refectory soon.” His mouth closed over Megan’s, stilling her words of exclamation.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  As the maid’s footsteps retreated, Megan burst into gales of laughter. “Did you speak the truth, my lord? Do you truly desire nothing further?”

  “You little wench.” With his lips crushing hers he muttered thickly, “Time with you is all I desire.”

  They came together with a rush of heat that had them both gasping.

  Everyone looked up when Megan and Kieran entered the refectory.

  Bridget, who had been waiting for Megan, flew into her arms and clung to her for long minutes. Their mutual affection was not lost on the others.

  Lady Katherine’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Hugh has told us how you saved the child in the village, my dear. I had feared the worst. I am so relieved. And so grateful.”

  As Megan took the seat offered her by Kieran, she lifted Bridget onto her lap. “It is I who am grateful. Grateful that, despite my loss of memory, I can recall the use of healing herbs. I would like to repay the generosity you have shown me by sharing my knowledge with the women of your villages, my lady.”

  “Oh, my dear. How generous you are.” As she spoke, Lady Katherine was struck by the look of pride on her son’s countenance. Did he not know how much was revealed in that look? Anyone could tell by looking at him that he adored the young woman beside him. Never before had he looked so relaxed, so content.

  This young woman, with no past, no memory, was good for Kieran, Lady Katherine decided. She only hoped that her son would be wise enough to realize that and take her as wife. Perhaps she would find a time soon to speak to him about it. Or perhaps, she thought with sudden insight, she would be wise to say nothing. Kieran treasured his privacy. And he had been especially withdrawn since his return from England.

  “Will you teach me, too?” Bridget chirped.

  “Aye. It would be good for you to learn.” Megan dropped light kisses on the girl’s upturned face.

  “If you would like,” Lady Katherine said excitedly, “we can ride to the village today and you can begin the lessons.”

  “Surely you do not intend to pick herbs and roots with the peasants?” Sir Cecil’s voice held a note of contempt as he turned to the woman beside him.

  The smiles froze on the faces of those at table. Megan felt the little girl tremble in her arms.

  “Indeed I do. I have always regretted that I could not help Sean’s people when they needed me,” Lady Katherine said softly.

  “I need not remind you that Sean is dead. You are to be my wife now. If you become ill, the Queen’s own physician will see to you.”

  “And what about my people?”

  “The lass will teach them what they need to know. You need not bother yourself with such things.”

  Kieran’s mouth tightened into a grim, tight line, and Megan felt him stiffen beside her as he fought to keep his temper under control. In low tones he said, “No man speaks to my mother with such disrespect.”

  “The lady is to be my wife. Or have you forgotten?”

  “I have forgotten nothing. Wife or no, you will treat her as you would your Queen.”

  Across the table James Kettering seethed with anger. His father, one of the most influential men at Elizabeth’s court, was being openly lectured by this traitorous rebel.

  “Hold your tongue,” Sir Cecil said sharply, “or you will find yourself no longer welcome under my roof.”

  “Your roof?” Kieran’s hands balled into fists.

  Lady Katherine gently placed a hand on Kieran’s arm, then turned to Sir Cecil. “Castle O’Mara will always belong to Sean’s sons, Cecil. I had thought you would understand.”

  “I understand that your sons, madame, will have to learn who is master of Killamara.”

  With a stricken look, Megan reached a hand to Kieran. With his eyes blazing he shoved away from the table and stormed out of the room.

  Tavis Downey got to his feet and glanced around the table, then said to Lady Katherine, “You always said he inherited his father’s temper, my lady. When he has a chance to calm himself, he will be back to beg your pardon.” His boots beat a tattoo across the wooden floor as he followed his friend.

  In the terrible silence that ensued, Lady Katherine turned to Megan. “As soon as we have finished breaking our fast, I will send a servant to the village to prepare the women for your visit.” Shooting a quick, sidelong glance at Sir Cecil, she added softly, “I will be unable to accompany you.”

  Her deference to Sir Cecil’s wishes caused another deadly silence. It was Hugh Cleary who finally spoke.

  “I would be happy to accompany you to the village, my dear.” To the others at table he added, “The Lady Megan is a most apt teacher. The lass’s he
aling powers are nothing less than miraculous.”

  Megan shot him a grateful smile.

  Across the table, James Kettering continued to fume. His eyes narrowed. Kieran O’Mara. How he hated him. The Irish scum was no longer trying to hide his feelings. It was obvious that he would not sanction his mother’s marriage. He would have to be brought to heel. And soon. Or all would be lost.

  James glanced at the young woman who had become uncomfortably silent since Kieran’s departure. From the proprietary way Kieran had filled Megan’s plate and watched with pride as she spoke, it was obvious that he had staked a claim on the Scotswoman. It was as if…James’s eyes narrowed in sudden horror. Of course. There was no doubt in James’s mind. The two had become intimate. It was so like O’Mara to win the most coveted prize of all.

  James turned toward his father, who sat brooding beside Lady Katherine. “I would speak with you, Father, about urgent business.”

  Pushing away from the table, James left the room without a word. Within minutes his father followed.

  Bishop O’Mara concluded the Mass and led the cluster of black-robed priests across the courtyard toward the castle doors. He had officiated in cathedrals in Rome and most of Europe, as well as in Ireland. But there was something especially satisfying about the simple chapel on the castle grounds. As a lad he had found solace here, away from the talk of war that always seemed to echo in the rooms of Castle O’Mara. It was both a blessing and a curse that he was descended from generations of warriors. He understood the passion that drove a man to fight for what was his. But he vehemently detested the violence of war.

  As he entered the refectory, he glanced around. “Where is Father Malone?” he asked.

  The priests shrugged.

  One of them commented, “I saw him kneeling in prayer in the chapel.”

  “Ahh.” Bishop O’Mara relaxed and began filling his plate. “He prays, no doubt, for a safe journey.”

  “When do you leave?” Lady Katherine, relieved that Sir Cecil and James had left, taking the tensions with them, filled the bishop’s goblet with hot mulled wine.

  “Three days hence. As soon as your banns have been spoken from the pulpit and your marriage is blessed, I will have your servants pack our horses and carts with the necessary supplies, my dear.”

  “You will not reconsider and remain with us a while longer? It would please me greatly if you would stay on here at Castle O’Mara. The villagers would welcome your healing presence among them. And I would treasure Sean’s brother by my side.” Especially now that Sir Cecil was showing her another side of his powerful personality, she reflected.

  The bishop kept his features carefully schooled. He had made his bargain with Sir Cecil. In exchange for his blessing upon this union, the innocent villagers of Killamara would be spared the ravages of war. The bishop admired his sister-in-law for her willingness to make this sacrifice for the love of others. But he did not wish to stay and watch as his family holdings fell under the domination of this brute.

  “I have already been away from my duties for too long. I dare not tarry once you are wed.” The bishop glanced around and said, “I did not see Colin at Mass this morrow. Nor do I see him now.”

  Lady Katherine, who had been too busy until now to take notice, looked perplexed. “I have not seen Colin today.” She glanced at Terence O’Byrne, who sat beside his son. Both men had been unusually quiet. “Have you seen Colin this morrow?”

  “Not I.” Terence O’Byrne turned to his son. “Conor, where is Colin?”

  “Most probably he is still abed.” Conor ducked his head and continued to eat.

  “Aye,” the bishop said. “He always was a frail one.”

  Megan noted the flush on Conor’s cheeks. He was hiding something. But what?

  Conor thought about the things Colin had confided in him. Though they had known each other for a lifetime, Conor was still reeling from this latest surprise. He realized that he ought to tell someone about Colin’s plans, but he could not bring himself to betray a confidence. Besides, he was secretly pleased.

  When they had finished their meal, Megan and Bridget went off to fetch warm traveling cloaks. As they passed the drawing room Megan saw Sir Cecil and his son standing before the fireplace, their heads bent in earnest conversation.

  Without another glance Megan caught Bridget’s hand in hers and hurried away.

  “How could you allow that cur to speak to you in such a manner?” James demanded. “I wanted to cut out his tongue.”

  “And you shall,” Sir Cecil said in a dangerously soft voice. “Very soon now. The fool has no idea that he is once again being betrayed by one who calls himself friend.”

  “Aye. But can we trust this…friend to remain loyal to us? Or will he turn on us as he turned on O’Mara?”

  “We have the advantage. We trust no one. When this is over, he will die with the O’Maras, and no one will be the wiser.”

  James smiled for a moment, then his frown returned. “What of the Scotswoman? You saw the way O’Mara treated her. I tell you, he has already made her his.” James paced in front of the fireplace. His eyes were dark with fury. “There is no mistaking the looks that passed between them.”

  “All the better.”

  James turned on his father. “Are you mad? If she has tasted his love, she will not willingly leave him for another, no matter how compelling the reasons.”

  “We will give her no choice.” Sir Cecil gave a chilling laugh. “Do you not see? It will be even easier to overpower Kieran O’Mara if he is mad with distraction over the lass. And he will go mad when he learns her fate.” He clapped his hands together. “Oh, this could not be better.” Draping an arm around his son he muttered, “The fish have all fallen into our nets. All we need do now is drag them in and watch them slowly gasp for breath.” As he led James toward the door he said, “Summon your man. It is time to introduce the Scotswoman to her past.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  F ather Arden Malone was tall and slender as a sapling. Sparse brown hair fell across his high forehead. His fingers were long and tapered, and when he lifted a hand in blessing, the faithful felt as if they had been blessed by God Himself. His eyes reflected a kindness of spirit that invited trust. At the monastery he had been considered an outstanding scholar and would have surely climbed the ranks to bishop or cardinal, except for one thing. All he really wanted was to be a simple parish priest and minister to his flock.

  He loved the people of this poor land. Loved them with the fierce protectiveness of a father. For so long now his people had been oppressed. He understood their fears for their children, their frustrations with the monarch across the sea and the pope across the continent who controlled their destiny. There were few decisions that were held in their own hands. But he was determined that he would honor what precious few decisions they could make for themselves.

  Father Malone had grown up in a large, loving family. His father and brothers were men of the soil, who loved their animals and plots of land as much as their women and children. They were simple people, as proud of their eldest son, who had been born deaf and mute, as their youngest, whose mind was far superior to anything they could imagine.

  Arden Malone had been hugged by his mother and sisters since he was born. He had watched his siblings fall in love, marry and bear many children. His nieces and nephews swarmed over him during his frequent visits to their homes. All of this made him, unlike many of the priests in his company, as comfortable with women as with men.

  Thus it was natural that Cara O’Byrne, in her torment, had sought him out. He had listened with compassion as she told him about her feelings for Colin O’Mara, and their attempts to put aside their love in order to serve God. At Cara’s urging, Colin had also turned to Father Malone after his unhappy discussion with his uncle, the bishop. The priest had listened in stony silence to the promise Bishop O’Mara had extracted from these two young people. And he had watched as they struggled heroically with their confl
icting feelings of love. He knew, with a certainty born of faith and trust in the rightness of God’s love, what he must do.

  Now, as he stood in the silent chapel, he spoke the Latin words while he broke the bread and tasted the wine. Morning sunshine spilled across the polished wood of the altar. The sharp tang of incense still lingered on the air. Outside the window a bird sent up a plaintive cry, and far away another one responded. He turned to watch as the two birds soared together until they seemed to touch the sun.

  “Two,” he said aloud. “It is as God intended. In all of nature, there is one who fulfills the other.”

  Walking toward the young couple, who knelt with bowed heads, he touched a hand to their shoulders and said, “You have spoken your vows before God. Go now and love one another. You are one name, one heart, one spirit.”

  His words seemed to bounce off the walls and echo around the empty chapel.

  With shining eyes, the two young people stood and faced each other. Tears ran down Cara’s cheeks, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. All her life she had dreamed of a joyous wedding, surrounded by her family and friends who would wish them well. But this ceremony, attended only by the gentle priest, had moved her to tears. She needed no wild celebration to mark this day. It was enough to know that she and Colin were wed.

  Colin pressed a kiss to Cara’s palm, then turned to Father Malone. “What about the bishop? Will he not seek to annul our marriage when he learns we have defied his rule?”

  “Fear neither the bishop nor any man. What God has joined together,” Father Malone intoned solemnly, “let no man put asunder.”

  As Megan, Bridget and Hugh Cleary returned from the village, they saw Kieran, astride his horse, approaching them from the surrounding forest. By his side rode Tavis Downey. Both horses, blowing and snorting from exertion, were lathered and covered with dust. It was obvious they had ridden hard for many miles.

  Megan understood Kieran’s need to ride, hard and fast, when his mind was in turmoil.