Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  She shook her head. “It is all too horrible to believe. My heart breaks when I think of what happened to Adam and his father.”

  Jamie reached out and took her hands. “I ken ye must still mourn for yer betrothed.”

  She nodded. “I do. Adam was a good man, as was his father.”

  Jamie looked at her curiously. “Did ye love him?”

  Fiona remembered Adam’s youthful smile. “Nay, I did not love him, but I considered myself lucky to be betrothed to him. He was kind and gentle. My father might have promised me to an old man or a hard man.”

  He reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “Ye mean like me, a hard man.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes smoldered.

  “Did Adam ever kiss ye good and proper?” he asked.

  “I…I do not ken what ye mean.”

  “This is what I mean,” he rasped.

  His lips closed over hers. He crushed her against his hard chest. His hand stroked down her torso, then back up. Weaving his fingers through her hair, he kissed her harder. His tongue pressed against her closed mouth. She gasped, her lips parting. His tongue delved into her mouth, stroking, caressing, stirring awake a need from deep within. The heat of his body surrounded hers. His scent, warm and masculine, teased her senses. Her fingers bit into his muscular arms as his kiss deepened further. She trembled. Soft moans escaped her lips. She leaned into him as a fire within her lit and grew, burgeoning into flames of passionate heat. Unbidden, her tongue met his, tasting, stroking, wanting.

  Suddenly, he tore his lips from hers and thrust her away from him, holding her at arms-length. His eyes bore into hers, fiery with passion. His breathing came in great heaves as did her own.

  “That is what it means to be good and kissed,” he growled. Then, he released her arms, turned on his heel, and thundered out of the room.

  Her heart pounded. Her fingers flew to her bruised lips as she stared at the now closed door.

  Dear God above, she never knew a kiss could be so consuming. In his arms, the world had fallen away and all that had existed was their bodies, hot and heaving, their lips, searching and hungry, their tongues, stroking, stirring. It had felt so good, too good. The pleasure had become an ache so sweet but so severe, building a hunger within her, which she knew not how to satiate.

  Her heart continued to race as she continued to stare at the door. When her pulse had quieted, and her breathing returned to normal, she retreated to the bed. But she lay awake, the ache in her body refusing to go away.

  ~ * ~

  Jamie stormed from his chamber, desire raging through him, fierce and hungry. He had never wanted a woman more. He stopped in his tracks.

  She was his wife. Why had he stopped? Why was she not still in his arms, soft and wanting? He had been sure of her desire. Her response to their kiss had been innocent yet hungry. And that hunger had nearly driven him to unrestrained passion.

  He shook his head.

  When he at last made love to her, he needed to be in control of himself. He needed to make sure he didn’t frighten her, or worst of all…hurt her again.

  He clenched his fists, angry at himself as the memory of her bruised wrists came to the fore of his mind. The pain he had inflicted had begun to heal. The markings were now a shadow of what they had been, but they would haunt him for the rest of his days. He could not risk losing control again. He reached the end of the hallway and ascended a narrow staircase that circled around and around until finally he reached a doorway that led him out onto the battlements.

  He stood looking out over the bailey and beyond to the rolling moorland, breathing deep the night air. Above him the black sky shone with points of light, and the moon hung full in the sky. He welcomed the quiet and the peace, but then, suddenly, a noise drew his gaze. He spotted two shadowy figures stealing across the far side of the parapet.

  “Hold,” he shouted, thundering after them. When he drew closer, he recognized Fiona’s maid.

  “Abby,” he called, but still she fled. In front of her was a young man. They reached the end of the ramparts, but the young couple had no place to go. They stopped and turned. It was, indeed, Fiona’s young maid and the lad who had sat with her earlier in the hall. Both hung their heads, their gazes trained on the floor, testifying to their guilt.

  Jamie stood in front of the them, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze trailed first over the young man who could not have been ten and seven but was tall and well built. Then his gaze passed over Abby. Her unbound blonde hair hung in tangled disarray, and her tunic was unbelted and sliding down one shoulder.

  “I don’t need to ask what ye’ve both been up to,” Jamie began, “but I do have to ask if ye’ve lost yer mind, Abby. If I had a sister like Esme, I would think twice about a dalliance on the battlements after dark.”

  Abby drew in a sharp breath. “Please don’t tell Esme, my laird. She will never again allow me to set foot from the keep.”

  He gave her a stern look, but then he turned to the young man. “Ye’re awfully quiet. What is yer name?”

  “Thomas,” the young man replied, at last meeting Jamie’s gaze. “Please, do not punish Abby or tell her sister. I will take whatever punishment ye see fit, my laird. Put me in the stocks. Take the strap to my back.”

  At least he seemed to truly care for Abby.

  Jamie fought to keep a smile from his face. “I do not think any of that will be necessary, lad. However, I will put ye to work. Report to the training fields bright and early. War is at hand, and I can use a strong lad like yerself.” Then he turned to Abby. “Yer lady is going to be busy tomorrow. She is taking on her duties here in the keep. Ye will assist her.” Furrowing his brow, to ensure he looked as threatening as possible, he said, “I need both of ye to promise me that ye will not see each other or speak to one another for a full week as penance.”

  “I promise,” Abby blurted out.

  Thomas bowed at the waist to Jamie. “Aye, my laird. I promise as well, and thank ye for being so merciful and wise and—”

  Jamie shook his head. “Enough, just get ye both to bed.” They scurried past him. “To yer own, separate beds,” he called after them.

  Apparently, there was nothing like intruding upon the clumsy affection of youth to cool his own desire. He shook his head at the young couple retreating into the keep, then strode back the way he’d come. Taking a last breath of fresh air, he turned away from the night and wound his way down the stone stairs. When he reached the door to his chambers, he quietly eased it opened. The fire in the hearth crackled. Candlelight illuminated his quarters. His gaze was drawn to the bed where he could see her small outline beneath the blankets. He let his plaid drop to the floor before he climbed in beside her. “I’m glad ye’re back,” she whispered.

  He pulled her close, nestling her in his arms. “Goodnight, Fiona,” he crooned softly in her ear.

  She nestled closer to him. The feel of her soft, round bottom renewed the ache in his body. He longed to taste her lips, to feel her skin, but he would restrain himself until he knew she was truly ready, despite the pain it caused him.

  Chapter 24

  When Fiona awoke, she glanced around the room. Jamie had already risen. She stretched, then wiped the sleep from her eyes. Sitting up, she rested her head in her hands, still hazy in her mind. And then it dawned on her—today, she could begin her duties as Lady of Làidir. Instantly, she was wide awake and nigh leapt from bed. Like her mother before her, Fiona thrived on staying busy and viewed her role as one of honor and duty, not entitlement. The idea of feeling useful again fueled the pace at which she crossed to the door that led to her own chamber where she found Esme and Abby still dressing.

  “I was just coming to wake ye,” Esme said as she tied the end of her long, blonde plait. “Ye’re looking bright this morning.”

  Fiona smiled. “Jamie has given me leave to take up my duties around the keep.”

  “Làidir could certainly benefit from yer fine skills.” E
sme smoothed her hands down the front of her belted green tunic. “Shall I find Julia and have her gather the servants together in the great hall for ye to address?”

  Fiona shook her head. “Nay, I will give direction to servants as needed. But would ye ask Julia to let everyone know to expect me today, especially the cook? Do either of ye recall her name?”

  “Mary,” Esme answered. “I met her yesterday. She seemed pleasant enough.”

  Abby stepped forward then. “Do not hesitate to put me to work today.”

  Fiona canted her head to the side as she considered Abby’s exuberance. “Ye’re particularly obliging.”

  The young maid shrugged, a nervous smile playing at her lips. “Ye know me, I’m always obliging.”

  Fiona and Esme exchanged glances before Esme cast her gaze heavenward. “She changes like the wind, this one. I never know what to make of her. Where would ye like to begin, my lady?”

  “Help me dress, please. Then, after we break our fast, we will start in the great hall. The woven rushes need some sprucing. The sconces are coated with wax. And the bare stone walls are an eyesore.”

  “Och, I’m tired already,” Esme said with a wink. “Ye ken I jest. I can’t wait to roll up my sleeves and get to work!”

  “Come on,” Fiona called, hastening back to Jamie’s room to dress. Làidir was like a blank canvas and she the artist bursting to create. There was much to be done, but Fiona knew that by the day’s end, the MacLeod fortress would be magnificent.

  Fiona sat at the high dais, awaiting Jamie. A messenger from his cousin had arrived just as supper was starting. Knowing that the laird and his captains could be delayed for some time, she bade everyone enjoy the meal. She, alone, abstained, waiting to share the venison stew and crusty bread with her husband.

  While she sat, she happily scanned the hall. Fresh rosemary had been sprinkled on the rushes. The candle drippings had been scraped off the walls and sconces. She had found stacks of tapestries of varying sizes and themes rolled together in a room off the kitchens. They were taken out and beaten. Now, they adorned the walls, adding color and interest in every direction. Already, the room felt warmer and voices did not echo so loudly off the high ceiling.

  Earlier in the day, she had sent some of the youngest children out to the meadowland beyond the fields to pick flowers. An hour later, they had returned with armfuls of yellow gorse, bell heather, and white mountain avens. Now, each of the trencher tables boasted a large vase bursting with brilliant color while several bunches hung along the walls to dry. Their scents mingled with the herbed rushes and trenchers of fine stew.

  Steam rose up from the wide, wooden platters scattered among the tables. The scent of bannock, fresh from the ovens, made her stomach growl. She had worked out the week’s menu with Mary, a wiry woman with gray hair at her temples, who at first did not appear excited to have Fiona poking around in her kitchen. But by the end of their discussion, Fiona was certain Mary had warmed to her.

  As far as Fiona was concerned, the day could not have gone better.

  Coming up behind her, Jamie pressed a sudden kiss to her cheek. “My laird,” she gasped, smiling, her heart racing at the sight of his sculpted physique and penetrating eyes.

  “I’m sorry I was delayed,” he said before taking his seat next to her.

  Matthew and Alasdair joined them moments later.

  She watched expectantly while Jamie scanned the room. When he turned and looked at her, a proud smile warmed his face. “Thank ye for all ye’ve done today.”

  She smiled at his compliment. “Ye need not thank me, Jamie. Yer servants have done the lion’s share of work.”

  “Aye, but under yer gentle direction. I do thank ye, Fiona, and not just for bringing out the tapestries and the flowers and…” He paused, inhaling deeply. “And the wonderful smell.”

  Soft laughter fled her lips. “We sprinkled rosemary onto the rushes.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Ye’ve brought me back to the happy days of my youth when both my parents still lived.”

  “There is more that I wish to show ye,” she said. “On the morrow, will ye take a tour of the kitchens with me?”

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. But then she noticed the looks he exchanged with Alasdair and Matthew.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  All lightness fled Jamie’s face. His brow furrowed. “Kenneth’s men have landed on the shores of Loch Ewe. Yer father’s army is also ready to march.” He held her hand in his. “We must ride out and meet them. We’ll bring horses and wagons and the necessary supplies Kenneth could not bring over on the ships that carried his men.”

  “How long will ye be gone?” Fiona asked.

  “Three days. Alasdair will ride with me. I leave Matthew here to assist ye.”

  A knot formed in her stomach. “When must ye go?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Within the hour.”

  “Tonight?” she exclaimed, heartsore at not having another night to spend with him. But then she squeezed his hand. “Forgive my outburst. It was selfish.”

  He leaned close and brushed his fingers down her cheek. “I will return to ye as soon as I am able. I take no pleasure in leaving yer side.”

  She sat straighter, trying to keep her thoughts on duty and honor. “What ye do is for the good of our people.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I will miss ye.”

  She now regretted that they had not consummated their union. What if something happened to him? Her chest tightened, making it difficult to draw breath.

  “Do not fash yerself,” he crooned in her ear. Then he leaned close and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I will return to ye, and I’ll bring home an army.”

  Chapter 25

  Fiona left the pantry, heading back into the kitchen. “Mary, I noticed the stores of willow bark and sage are running low. Otherwise, the herb cupboard is well in hand.” Fiona smiled at the cook. “Not that I am surprised. Ye keep a well-stocked pantry, to be sure.”

  Mary blushed at her praise. Dusting off her hands, she passed Fiona a wooden spoon. “Taste the pottage I’ve made for the warriors’ dinner.”

  Fiona crossed to the pitfire over which hung a large, steaming pot. She deeply inhaled the coiling scents of rich meats and thyme before dipping her spoon into the stew. “Delicious,” she affirmed to the cook.

  Mary nodded. “Good. Those men have been training night and day. I only pray their skills are not needed.”

  Fiona made the sign of the cross and whispered a similar prayer before she reached over and patted Mary’s hand. “God is on our side. Remember that in yer heart.”

  Tears flooded the cook’s eyes. “If only I can count on his forgiveness.”

  Fiona shook her head. “But whatever for?”

  Mary swiped at the wetness that had escaped the confines of her lids. “When I learned our laird had chosen ye as his bride, I had wicked thoughts. I didn’t want ye here. I prayed ye wouldn’t come.”

  “Hush now, Mary. Don’t fret,” Fiona soothed, pulling the cook into her arms. “Trust me when I say my prayers were the very same.”

  Mary smiled, laughing through her tears. “I suppose we’ve surprised each other.”

  “We certainly have,” Fiona said warmly.

  Mary cleared her throat and stepped back, patting her face dry with the bottom of her apron. “Now, then, where were we? Oh, I’ve planned a special feast for the evening meal in honor of our laird’s return.”

  Fiona’s heart leapt with excitement. “He did say we might expect him today. I only pray he’s not been delayed.”

  “My lady!”

  Fiona and Mary both turned.

  Matthew stood in the doorway, his breaths coming in great heaves. “There was an attack on a group of cottars settled an hour’s ride west of here. Warriors already race to their aid. I’m leaving now to join them.”

  Fiona nodded, wiping her hands off on her apron. “I’m coming with ye.”

  �
��Nay,” he blurted. “What I meant to say, my lady, is…well…Nay! ‘Tis too dangerous.”

  Fiona walked past him. “I will not yield. Do not waste yer breath.”

  She rushed to the herb cupboard and seized a basket off the shelf, which she filled with dried Hart’s Tongue, meadowsweet, goldenrod, butter, and strips of clean linen. “Ye’ll need a healer, which I am.”

  Matthew shook his head but did not try to stop her. “I do not ken what Jamie will say, but let us hurry!”

  Fiona bent low in the saddle, urging her mare to keep up with Matthew’s powerful black stallion. Together, they thundered up a steep hill. When they reached the top, Fiona’s heart sank. Tears stung her eyes. Billowing black smoke writhed above huts being devoured by roaring flames. Mid-summer crops were crumbling to ash. Warriors moved among the rubble and charred earth, searching for survivors.

  Choking back sobs, she charged down the hill. When she neared the destruction, she slid off her horse and darted toward the nearest warrior. He looked up at her approach. Bushy brown hair framed his ashen skin. His face was pinched with anguish.

  “Please tell me they’re not all dead,” she cried.

  He held out empty soot-streaked hands. “We’ve found no one.” He pointed to a nearby hut, consumed by fire. “’Tis my home.” His lips trembled. “I do not ken if my wife and daughter escaped.” Then his eyes shot wide. His nostrils flared. Without another word, he turned and seized Fiona’s mare, swinging up in the saddle. Then he sped off toward the woods.

  Her mind raced, and her heart drummed in her chest as she scoured the grounds, searching for any sign of life…or death.

  “Matthew,” she screamed, racing toward a fallen woman whose legs protruded from behind a tree. When she reached the body, Fiona dropped to her knees. “Please, God,” she rasped and swept aside the woman’s tangled flaxen hair to press her cheek to her chest.

  “She breathes,” she announced to Matthew when he arrived with her basket of supplies in hand. Fiona snatched up a linen strip and blotted the dark red trickle seeping from a gash on the woman’s temple. Then she noticed a ragged tear in the upper arm of her tunic. Folding the thin wool back, Fiona gasped when she saw blood oozing from a deep slice in her arm.