Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  “Where is Ross?” He had to ask.

  His cousin hadn’t been in the hall. He enjoyed staying up late, dragging his father’s laird’s chair before the hall fire and sprawling in it as he drank John’s best wine.

  His bedchamber also proved empty, his bed not slept in.

  “Ross? I ken you two dinnae get on, but he’d no’ do the like.” John shook his head. “He’s away, anyhow. There’s a lass he visits, o’er toward the Cuillins. She stays with her mother far up in those great hills. The mother is ailing.

  “Ross takes her ale and provender from Druimbegan’s kitchens. He’ll be with the gel and her ma now.” He nodded firmly, as if doing so would make it true.

  Gunnar knew it wasn’t.

  Jumping to his feet, John grabbed his elbow. “Come, laddie! You dinnae think my own son did this?”

  “I dinnae ken what to think.” Gunnar gave the most tactful answer he could. “All that matters is your weal.” He took John’s hand, gripping it between both of his own. “Until this is resolved, I’m keeping your crummock hidden on the Solan. We’ll do the same with your flask, and I’ll burn the shoes. ‘Tis better if nae one kens these things have been found – or that you no longer need the stick as much.”

  “But I do!”

  “I say you dinnae.” Gunnar released John’s hand, smiling for the first time in hours. “You’re standing fine now.” His heart lifted for it was true. “You just leapt up as if your knees didn’t plague you. You’ll nae need a walking aid much longer. But as long as you do and until we find the traitor…”

  Letting his words trail off, Gunnar went back to the door to fetch a long, crudely cut length of wood that he’d propped in the shadows when he’d entered the room.

  “This will serve, I hope.” He returned to his uncle, handing him the new ‘crummock.’ “I used my ax to cut it from one of the Solan’s spare oar-shafts.”

  “I thank ye.” John’s clutched the oar-stick to his chest, his voice gruff. “I aye told my brother he raised a good son,” he added, his eyes glistening.

  Gunnar nodded.

  He didn’t trust himself to speak past the thickness in his throat. He did love John – and his father. He missed Ambrose. It pained him not to know when – or if – he’d ever see him again. His father was, after all, a good number of years older than John. If the gods were good, both men would live into their dotage.

  Gunnar planned to give Ambrose many grandchildren. Secretly, he hoped that once John recovered from the ordeal of believing himself witless, he’d regain his healthy interest in the ladies. Perhaps he’d even marry again, sire a few bairns. Including a son to someday laird it at Druimbegan.

  A worthy one this time.

  New family or nae, Gunnar intended to do everything he could to protect his uncle.

  Hoping John wouldn’t balk – for he could be stubborn - Gunnar bent to gather up the bejeweled crummock, ruined brogues, and his uncle’s prized silver flask. He tucked everything back into the leather bag and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Before I go,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the door. “I’ve set two of my most trusted men to watch o’er you. They’re Oddi and Holar, and they’ll spend their nights guarding your bedchamber. By day, they’ll no’ leave your side.

  John plucked at a wrinkle in his bed-robe, seeming uncomfortable. “What’ll my own men think?”

  “I’ll put out word that you’re doing me a secret boon – that my men are restless and so you’re giving them the ‘honor’ of acting as your guard.”

  “Think you they’ll believe that?”

  “Aye.” Gunnar’s mind raced. “All ken we’ve been taking out the Solan of a night. Beating up and down the loch, and along coast is fine for keeping my men’s rowing arms strong. But it’s no’ enough to ease their yearning for open seas. Guarding you is a way to keep them busy, leastways Oddi and Holar.

  “With the truce gathering no’ far off, you’re an important man,” Gunnar added, pleased when John stood a bit straighter on the words, his bearded chin lifting. “Could be the MacDonalds would try to goad us, to thwart peace with the MacKenzies. If they did, coming after you would be a powerful way to strike.”

  “So it would.” John swelled his chest a bit, nodding.

  “I dinnae think they’ll do the like,” Gunnar said. “No’ with the might of three great clans in play – our own MacLeods, the Black Stag’s MacKenzies, and our truce hosts, the MacKinnons.

  “Even so, we’ll keep you well guarded,” Gunnar finished, liking the plan. “Nae one need ken there’s a snake slithering amongst us here at Druimbegan.”

  No’ yet, anyway, he added to himself.

  John said nothing. But he did use the oar-stick to return to his bed. Stepping onto his footstool, he scrambled up onto the high mattress and settled beneath the covers.

  “Have a care, laddie.” He peered at Gunnar from the shadows of his great, curtained bed. “The MacDonald fiends could come after you, too. You are your father’s son.” Ye do him proud – just as he did our clan proud, aye a better laird than me.

  Gunnar nodded, pretending he hadn’t heard John’s last words, mumbled into his beard.

  His uncle was a good chieftain – or had been.

  Satisfied, and hopeful, that he soon would be again, Gunnar strode from the room.

  To his relief, Oddi and Holar were already ‘on duty,’ flanking the door. Mailed, sword-and-ax hung, and with each man bearing a spear, chances were slim that Ross would challenge them – whenever he returned.

  Gunnar would go after him – catching the bastard outside his bolt hole.

  This night...

  He’d done all he could.

  Chapter 13

  About the same time, but across heather miles and cold, night-blackened waters, a tiny old woman crept into Eilean Creag’s kitchens. Garbed all in black and with red plaid laces in her boots, she took care to step quietly as she made her way toward a small, but cozy room near the buttery.

  In truth, she needn’t have worried.

  If anyone chanced to hear her and glanced her way, the crone was adept at making herself unseen. Those long-nosed enough to look twice, would only have seen a shift in the shadows. So skilled was she as a master meddler.

  Her magic was great, so when she reached the room she sought, she didn’t hesitate to enter.

  Katla wouldn’t see her.

  Indeed, the lass wouldn’t even waken.

  Her wee dog did crack an eye, but when Devorgilla wriggled a brow at him, he thought better of barking.

  He did watch her, though. Curled against the backs of Katla’s knees, he looked on as the crone approached the bed and smiled down at his sleeping mistress.

  “The time is nigh,” she crooned, reaching out a knotty-knuckled hand to touch Katla’s brow.

  Of course, Devorgilla being who she was, her touch was special. As was the glance she aimed at the room’s small brazier. Standing as straight as she could, her great age considered, she turned her attention on the brazier’s peat bricks, letting her magic change their soft orange glow to a shimmering light-curtain.

  A small one, to be sure.

  But that was necessary – a thoughtful nod to her unwitting host. It wouldn’t do to have Eilean Creag’s entire kitchens ablaze with winter fire. Indeed, the light-curtain she’d conjured was only there for a few moments, and then gone.

  But even as the peats turned back to smoldering bricks of turf, Katla’s dreams filled with visions of the luminous light curtains of the north.

  In her sleep, her lips even curved in a smile – proof enough for Devorgilla that her magic had worked.

  Not that she’d had any doubt.

  So she lifted her hand from Katla’s brow, gave Glaum another brow-wiggle - for good measure – and then slipped from the room as softly as she’d entered.

  This time she didn’t bother to hobble across the kitchens. Up in years as she was, her bones were stiff and her joints a problem. So she
simply headed for the shadows in a nearby corner, stepped into the darkness, and vanished.

  She was needed no more.

  The northern winds were blowing hard toward Odin’s Flame – the Lord of Winter was coming.

  Chapter 14

  Odin’s Flame

  Two nights later…

  He wasn’t there.

  Katla refused to believe it as she crested the great mountain’s peak. She’d hurried up the steep and icy path, not slipping once, or even tiring. Almost as if someone had set wings to her feet, spelling her so that she found the ascent easier than ever before. She was slightly out of breath, but that was excitement. A stitch throbbed in her side, so she pressed a hand against her ribs as she looked about the snowy summit, searching everywhere.

  But she wasn’t mistaken.

  She was alone.

  Gunnar’s absence shone almost as brightly as the shimmering curtain of light that danced across the heavens. Even brighter, more colorful than before, the winter fire almost hurt her eyes. That gave her hope, letting her think Gunnar might indeed be on the summit. Perhaps she hadn’t yet spotted him because of the whirling light-colors, the clouds of windblown snow?

  “Oh, Gunnar, please be here…” She turned in a circle, half afraid to keep looking, for fear she’d see only frozen rocks, ice and snow, the dazzling flames above her.

  In truth, that was what met her eye.

  She swallowed against the thickness in her throat, told herself the tears stinging her eyes came from the cold. Only she knew better. It was disappointment that crushed her. So she slipped a hand beneath her cloak and curled her fingers around her Thor’s hammer amulet, willing Gunnar to appear.

  Of course, he didn’t.

  No matter how hard she strained her ears, she didn’t hear his approach. She didn’t catch the crunch of footsteps on frozen ground. The only sounds were the rushing of the cold, north wind and the low crackling of the light curtain as it dipped and leapt, whirling all around her.

  She sank to her knees, not caring if the snow dampened her skirts, chilling her.

  A different kind of cold was spreading through her, icing her heart, freezing her soul. She knew he wouldn’t come late. If he’d meant to meet her, he would have – why else would she have dreamt that she’d seen the winter fire in her room’s brazier? A sign from the gods, she’d been sure.

  The old ones never erred.

  Or did they?

  Frowning, she retraced her journey in her mind. Had she arrived too early? She also hadn’t spotted Gunnar’s guardsmen. If any men-in-white-druid-robes skulked about, left in Kintail to watch over her - they, too, were missing.

  Could something have happened to Gunnar?

  Had they all met some terrible fate?

  “Nae, please…” That would be even worse. She wouldn’t think it.

  He had to come.

  So she hugged herself, peered again into the whirling snow. “Where are you?”

  Pushing to her feet, she went to the heart of the summit, an enchanted place marked by a jutting outcrop of frost-crusted rocks. It was there that she’d first glimpsed him. Now, as then, icy wind whipped her skirts and tore at her cloak. She needed both hands to push back her hair for the wind had loosened her braid and the strands kept snapping across her face. The crackle of the winter fire rang in her ears and its dazzling light sent shivers all along her nerves so that her entire body tingled. Any other time, she’d throw her arms high, twirl about, and shout with the glory of such a grand spectacle.

  This night, she wanted only Gunnar.

  Then, as if the gods hadn’t deserted her after all, everything went quiet. Even the curtain of light seemed to still, as if holding its breath in sympathy.

  Only for a heartbeat, but long enough for her to know that she was the one who’d erred.

  The ancients hadn’t abandoned her.

  Gunnar was here. Coming up the far slope, and heading toward her with long, sure strides. His eyes lit when he saw her, and a huge smile broke across his face. He opened his arms as he came closer, and her heart thundered, for the way he looked at her left no doubt about his feelings.

  He wanted her as fiercely as she wanted him.

  She also suspected he might love her.

  His eyes hinted that he did – and the way he’d dressed, for he wasn’t wearing his MacLeod plaid, but his silver wolf cloak.

  He’d come to her as she’d met him…

  Through the curtain of light, the cold northern wind surging all around him.

  ~ * ~

  Katla blinked, half afraid she’d only seen a flash of silver swirl across the snow.

  But he was truly there.

  Her pulse quickened, a great swell of joy rising inside her as he closed the distance between them. She wouldn’t have believed it, but even knowing him, she’d almost swear that he was a Norse god, come down from Valhalla.

  His silver wolf cloak caught the light of the winter fire, the fur shining as bright as stars. Tall and powerfully built as he was, his cloak made him look even bigger. Beneath it, his mail shirt gleamed as if newly polished. His sword belt was also silver-studded, and he’d slung a huge Viking war ax over his shoulder. The wind blew his hair about his shoulders, lending him an air of ancient fierceness. But it was the look in his eyes – and his ever-growing smile – that weakened her knees and made her heart pound.

  He seemed so happy to see her, and that knowledge was almost too much to bear.

  Indeed, she thought she might burst from joy.

  Before she could, he was upon her – and he pulled her into his arms, almost crushing her as he kissed her.

  Holding her even tighter, he deepened the kiss, plundering her lips as if the world would end on the morrow. He tasted of the cold night air, and she caught a hint of peat smoke in his beard, his hair. It was a heady blend, exciting her as she opened her mouth beneath his, welcoming his tongue, the breath they shared. She leaned into him, returning his kiss with the whole of her soul. She clutched his shoulders, digging her fingers into the thick fur of his cloak. He was hers and she didn’t want to let him go.

  Not this night, not ever.

  When he broke the kiss and pulled away, he took her hand and thrust it inside his cloak, pressing her fingers against the mail that covered his heart.

  “Katla.” He looked into her eyes, melting her. “I have so much to say to you. I’ll start by telling you that my heart is yours. So is my soul, my body. Here, this night, and forever more.”

  “Oh!” She didn’t know what else to say.

  He smiled down at her. “You can believe me, lass. I speak true, I swear it.”

  “I know.” Her heart leapt, but so did her worries. Pesky thoughts that gnawed at her late at night, when she tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep as her gaze went to her small window – the night sky beyond, the view of Odin’s Flame.

  “You speak of a long time.” She glanced aside, her gaze on the lower edges of the light curtain as it danced around them. She heard him take a deep breath and then he gripped her chin, lifting her face back to his.

  Meeting his gaze, she spoke her fear. “You hardly know me. To speak of forever-”

  “I speak of love.” He smiled down at her. “I am only able to do so because I do know you, lass. I have done all this time, and I suspect you feel the same – or you wouldn’t have come here. Is that no’ the way of it?”

  She blinked, swallowed hard. “We are unmatched,” she blurted. “Look at you.” Stepping back, she let her gaze flick over him. “You truly could be the Lord of Winter, here in all your noble finery. And I, I am-”

  “The lass I came to see.” He took her hands in his. “I am here to claim you, Katla. To make you mine, here where we began, in the light of the winter fire.”

  She wanted to believe him.

  So badly.

  But worry still clawed at her. Troublesome cares made all the more damning because she knew that as tightly as he held her hands, he’d fe
el the callouses on her fingers. She wouldn’t have been so concerned if he’d whipped off his cloak, and then lowered her to its bed of fur so they could slake their passion. He spoken of love, and much as she loved him, she couldn’t bear to have him and then – someday – watch him walk away when a time came and he must. Laird’s sons didn’t marry kitchen lasses.

  And – the gods help her – she wanted him.

  She wanted to be his wife.

  “Do you ken why I was late?” He drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her. “Can you guess?”

  “Nae. I did worry.”

  “You shouldn’t have. I keep my word, always.”

  “I should have remembered that you had a long journey from Druimbegan.”

  “That’s no’ what kept me.” He held her gaze. “I stopped to speak to each of my men. The ones scattered throughout Kintail in druid robes. I wanted to hear what they could tell me, make certain no harm had come to you.”

  “They’re here?” She glanced back along the path she’d followed. “I did not see them.”

  “They’re nowhere near this summit, dinnae you worry.” His smile flashed. “But they are about, aye. You weren’t meant to see them, lass. Their task was to remain hidden, only looking after you as you passed them.

  “They will do the same when you leave.” His words made her heart tumble over.

  “And you?” She lifted a hand, touching his beard, his hair. Snowflakes clung to both and she brushed them away with her fingertips. “What will you do?”

  “I have matters to settle at Druimbegan.” His smile faded and he glanced to the west as if he could see his family stronghold across the distance. When he turned back to her, he removed his silver wolf cloak and spread it on the snow. “I will come for you when I can,” he said, unbuckling his sword belt. “You must believe that.”

  “I do.” She did, something inside her unfurling, even warming as he placed his sword and then his ax on the edges of the cloak, anchoring it against the wind.

  He shrugged out of his mail shirt with surprising ease and used it the same way. Then he tugged off his boots and knelt on his cloak, opening his arms to reach for her. “You must wait for me. I willnae need much time, but I’d no’ have you fretting.”