by Jayne Castel
Adaira massaged a stiff muscle in her shoulder. Her body ached, and her belly was hollow with hunger. She wished now she’d brought more provisions with her. What she would do for a plate of fresh bannocks, slathered with freshly churned butter and heather honey.
Adaira cast Lachlann a shy glance. “So … how long will we stay here?”
“Long enough for me to bathe and get some rest.”
“Bathe?” Adaira tensed. “But ye don’t have any soap, or a fresh change of clothes.”
Lachlann cast her a roguish grin and rose to his feet. As she watched, he pulled off his boots and started to unlace his braies. “Then I’ll have to wash both my body and clothing with fresh sea water. It will be bracing, but at least ye won’t have to suffer my stench.” He finished unlacing his braies and paused. “Ye had best turn around, lest I offend yer innocent eyes.”
Adaira sucked in a shocked breath, but hurriedly did as bid, shifting round so that her back was to him. Heat suffused her, and she was glad Lachlann couldn’t see her burning face. She felt out of her depth, flustered.
Behind her, she heard the sounds of him undressing, then a splash as he entered the water.
A muffled curse followed.
Despite her embarrassment, a smile curved Adaira’s mouth. “Is it cold?”
“Freezing,” came his choked reply.
Adaira coughed, masking a laugh.
More splashing ensued, and she assumed he was washing his léine and braies. Washed in the salt water of the loch, the clothing would be stiff and uncomfortable when it dried and would likely chafe his skin. Still, at least he would smell fresher.
While Lachlann bathed, Adaira distracted herself by taking in her surroundings. She wondered where they were exactly. She hadn’t realized that the Isle of Raasay or the shores of the mainland had cliffs like these. It reminded her of home.
After a while Adaira grew bored of staring at the cliffs and the green headland beyond. Eventually she grew impatient. If Lachlann wanted to rest, he needed to get out of the water and dry his clothing. They’d never get to Argyle at this rate.
When the splashing finally subsided, Adaira let out a long sigh. Good. Surely he’s done now.
She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder—and froze.
Lachlann was approaching the shore, just a few yards behind her, thigh-deep in water and completely naked. Sensing movement, he stopped, and their gazes met.
Adaira stared, her lips parting in shock.
His body glistened in the morning sun, highlighting each plane of muscle across his chest, shoulders, belly, and thighs. His body was lean and hard. His red hair was much darker when wet, and slicked back from his face.
Without realizing what she was doing, Adaira let her gaze slide from his face, down his chest and flat belly, to the thatch of dark auburn hair at his groin. Heat pooled in her lower belly as she did so.
“There’s no point in looking there,” he said with a teasing smile. “The freezing water’s done its work. I suggest ye take another look later when I’ve warmed up.”
His voice tore Adaira from her reverie. With a choked sound, she whipped her head away from him.
Mother Mary, what was I doing?
“Get dressed,” she rasped, mortified.
“I can’t yet.” The amusement in his voice made Adaira wish a chasm would open up and suck her into it. “My clothing needs to dry first. Hand me yer cloak, will ye?”
Sucking in a deep breath, Adaira did as bid, careful to keep her face averted.
A moment later he spoke again. “It’s safe now … ye can turn around.”
Reluctantly, Adaira twisted, her gaze settling upon him once more. Her cloak was too small, and too short to cover Lachlann properly, but it protected his modesty nonetheless. He’d wrung out his léine and braies and spread them out over two sun-warmed rocks.
Lachlann met her eye, his own gaze gleaming.
Adaira struggled to keep her composure. She was sure her face now glowed red like a lump of burning peat. Clearing her throat, she glanced away. “Shouldn’t ye try and get some sleep?”
“Aye … will ye keep a look out while I do?”
“Of course.” Adaira replied briskly, still refusing to look at him. Instead, she pulled her knees up under her chin and kept her gaze fixed upon the watery horizon.
“Thank ye, Aingeal.” The smile in his voice made her embarrassment burn even hotter. “Wake me if anyone approaches.”
Adaira gazed up at the castle perched upon the clifftop. “How strange,” she mused aloud. “It looks just like Duntulm.”
“There are many cliff-top fortresses on this coast,” Lachlann replied.
“Really?” Adaira tore her gaze from the high stone walls and the emerald-green hills that surrounded it. “I expected the mainland to look different to our isle. Ma always said it was softer, less dramatic.”
“Parts are.”
Adaira’s attention shifted to Lachlann then. He rowed in long, confident strokes. She took in the the way his shoulder muscles bunched and flexed under his still-damp léine. Heat rose within Adaira as remembered what he’d looked like naked.
Shoving the memory aside, she forced herself to focus on the present. “Can’t we take the boat ashore at the nearest settlement?” she asked. “I’m faint with hunger.”
He gave a curt nod. “Aye … once we round this headland.”
“Ye must be exhausted. Why don’t ye let me row for a while?”
Lachlann snorted, meeting her eye. “It’ll take us two weeks to reach Gylen Castle if we share the rowing.”
Adaira’s spine stiffened. “I’m not useless.”
“I didn’t say ye were. It’s just that we’ll get there quicker if I row.”
Adaira huffed. “Why don’t we leave the boat and get horses at the next village?”
“Gylen Castle sits upon an isle just off the coast. If we travel south, and traverse the Sound of Mull, we’ll reach it faster.”
Adaira frowned. She hadn’t realized that.
“How many silver pennies do ye have in yer purse?” Lachlann asked with a smile.
“Three.”
“Well, that’s enough to keep us fed during the journey. It’s just as well we are traveling by boat, because three pennies won’t by ye a donkey, let alone two horses.”
Adaira fell silent. Lachlann’s words reminded her how frivolous she’d been over the years. She wished she’d managed to save more than three silver pennies. Rhona had often teased her about her love for fine fabric, and perfumed oils and soaps. She never missed the monthly market at Dunvegan village, and what coins her father had given her at each Yuletide were spent there.
Frankly, she was surprised she’d managed to save anything at all.
Her fickle ways embarrassed her. She wondered how she must appear to Lachlann Fraser. A silly goose of a girl, with a head full of nonsense.
“Stay with the boat. I’ll be back soon.”
Lachlann watched disappointment shadow Lady Adaira MacLeod’s hazel eyes. “Can’t I come with ye?”
Lachlann shook his head. That was the last thing he wanted. They’d landed just below the village of Geary, a small crofting hamlet that sat on the north-western coast of the isle.
And within MacLeod lands.
Fortunately, Adaira had no idea of their real location.
Traveling this way put Lachlann on edge. Sailing around the coast of MacLeod territory made him nervous. They were close to Dunvegan now, far too close for his liking.
He couldn’t risk having Adaira recognized by one of the village folk at Geary. If she spoke to any of them, the game would be up too, for she’d know instantly that they were still upon the Isle of Skye.
“Someone needs to look after the boat,” he pointed out. “It’s faster if I go alone.” He carried one of the silver pennies from Adaira’s purse; it would be enough to buy them a decent meal for tonight and enough food for tomorrow morning. He estimated that, at their current spee
d, they’d reach Talasgair by noon the following day.
Not waiting for her to voice another objection, Lachlann turned and made his way up the shore, toward the narrow path that climbed the hill. He needed to make this journey quickly and draw as little attention to himself as possible. The sooner they were back on the water and rowing away from MacLeod lands, the better.
Adaira was starting to ask too many questions. Although sheltered, the lass was highly perceptive and missed little.
Geary was tiny, little more than a handful of crofters’ huts huddled together upon a bleak, windswept hillside. Lachlann knocked on the door of the first hut he encountered, and a woman with two bairns hanging off her skirts answered.
“I don’t have much,” she said, beckoning him in, “but for a penny I can fix ye a meal.”
Lachlann flashed her a charming smile. “A weary traveler thanks ye.”
The woman smiled back, her gaze coy. Lachlann wondered where her husband was; he hoped the man wasn’t due back anytime soon. He didn’t want any questions.
“I’m a widow,” the woman told him as she went to a bench and retrieved a loaf of coarse bread.
Relief suffused Lachlann, although wariness swiftly followed. She had the look of a woman in search of a new husband.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” he replied.
“Drowned,” she continued, cutting the loaf in half. She then reached for a wheel of cheese. “Left me with these two to raise on my own.”
Two grubby faces peered up at Lachlann in the dim light inside the hut.
Lachlann didn’t reply. He didn’t want to encourage the woman. Instead, he watched as she filled a cloth bag with the bread, cheese, and four boiled eggs. His mouth filled with saliva at the thought of the coming meal. He hadn’t eaten anything since those three buns on the morning after their escape from Dunvegan. His belly now burned with hunger.
A penny would have bought him far more in town, but this woman was poor.
He pressed the coin into her palm with a smile and took the cloth bag from her. He then held up the empty water bladder Adaira had given him. “I don’t suppose ye have some boiled water I could fill this with?”
“Aye,” the woman replied, holding his gaze. She was blonde and curvaceous with a bold stare. “But I’ve something better than that.” She motioned to the barrel behind her. “Apple wine.”
Lachlann’s smile stretched into a grin. “That’ll do nicely.”
A short while later he left the hut, a sack of food and drink in hand.
The woman followed him to the door, her two children still clinging to her like limpets. She batted at them, irritated, but they wouldn’t let go. “There’s no need to rush off,” she called after him. “Dusk will be upon us shortly. Why don’t ye stay the night?”
“I thank ye for the kind offer.” Lachlann cast her another careless smile, although he didn’t slow his stride. “But the tide waits for no man.”
Chapter Nine
A Stolen Kiss
“HEAVENS … THIS IS strong wine.” Adaira lowered the bladder, eyes smarting, and handed it to Lachlann. “It has a kick like a pony.”
Lachlann raised the bladder to his mouth and took a long draft. “I know … it’s delicious.”
The pair of them sat upon a pebbly beach, in an isolated cove a half hour’s journey from where Lachlann had bought supplies. He’d not been away long and had been eager to depart the moment he returned. Adaira had wanted to eat first, but he’d been insistent. He’d pushed the boat into the water, leaped in, and rowed away as if the devil was on his tail.
Adaira didn’t understand why they couldn’t have found lodgings for the night in the village. Surely it was more comfortable than sleeping out under the stars?
“What was the name of the village … did they tell ye?” Adaira asked. Her words slurred slightly as she spoke. She’d eaten a good supper of bread, cheese, and boiled eggs, but the wine had gone straight to her head.
“I didn’t ask.”
Adaira studied him. Dusk was settling, and the golden light kissed the proud lines of his face. “Is this yer first trip to the mainland?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Two years ago I visited kin in Inbhir Nis.”
Adaira’s eyes widened. She longed to visit the large towns on the mainland, including the capital, Dùn Èideann. “What’s Inbhir Nis like?”
He met her eye, his mouth quirking in a way that made her pulse quicken. “The town sits on the banks of a great river that leads east out to sea,” he replied. “It’s a busy port full of fishermen and ship builders.” He paused here. “There was once a great stone keep overlooking the town, but it’s in ruins now … after Robert the Bruce leveled it.”
Adaira loosed a sigh. “There are so many places I long to see. Don’t ye wonder about the world beyond our borders?”
“Sometimes,” Lachlann admitted. She saw the gleam in his eyes and knew that her comment had amused him. Adaira didn’t mind though. The wine had relaxed her, and she felt in an expansive, dreamy mood.
“Where would ye visit, if ye could?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know … France maybe. The Frasers are said to hail from Anjou.”
Adaira’s gaze widened. “Really?”
“Aye, that’s why our motto is in French: ‘Je suis prest’ … I’m ready.”
Adaira inclined her head, smiling. “Ours is ‘Hold Fast’.”
Lachlann snorted. “I know … I heard yer father bellow it as he charged us in battle.”
“Da says the MacLeods are of viking stock,” Adaira continued, deliberately steering him away from that subject. “Our ancestor was a man called Leod. Da says he was a son of Olaf the Black … a Norse king who raided this isle.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Lachlann replied. “I could well imagine yer father leading a boatload of Norsemen, burning and pillaging as he went.”
Adaira didn’t reply. She couldn’t really contradict him, for she knew first-hand that Malcolm MacLoed was a man to be reckoned with: feared by his enemies and respected by his allies.
They fell silent for a spell. Lachlann offered the bladder of wine to her once more, but Adaira shook her head. She felt light-headed and strange, like her limbs were floating. The wine had sharpened her senses too. She was keenly aware of the soft evening air caressing her face, and of the attractive man seated just two feet from her.
Not that she needed the wine to be aware of Lachlann Fraser. His nearness was a constant distraction. She could literally feel the heat of his body warming the air between them.
Blinking, Adaira tried to focus on something else. “I wonder where we are.” She sank back on her elbows and turned her face up to the sea breeze. “It reminds me so much of home.”
“Aye, it’s a pretty stretch of coast,” he murmured.
Something in his voice made Adaira glance his way. Lachlann sat, propped up on an elbow, watching her. It was a searching look, one that made Adaira’s pulse quicken.
Adaira swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Why are ye looking at me like that?”
Lachlann gazed at the young woman before him. The wine had caused the stress of the day to slough away. He’d even forgotten his aching back, shoulders, and arms—from all the rowing he’d done.
“Because ye are bonny,” he murmured.
He watched Adaira wet her lips nervously. Yet she continued to hold his gaze.
Innocent, and yet with a certain boldness.
It wasn’t a lie; he did find her beautiful. Not in the obvious way some women were—no, Adaira MacLeod’s attractiveness lay in something earthier. Her long walnut-colored hair lay in heavy waves around an elfin face. Frank hazel eyes, flecked with green, watched him with guileless interest.
Now that she no longer wore her heavy cloak, he’d noticed that her figure, although girlish, had a delicious lushness at her hips and bust. Her dark-green kirtle was laced over the swell of full, high breasts.
And yet it was h
er mouth that fascinated him the most: delicate, yet full. Her lips parted slightly as their stare drew out. He saw her bosom rise sharply as she sought to control her breathing.
Lachlann’s pulse quickened in response.
“Ye shouldn’t say such things,” she whispered.
He gave a soft laugh. “Why not?” He shifted closer to her, his hand lifting to where a heavy curl lay across her throat. “I’m merely stating the obvious. Ye are lovely, and I long to kiss ye.”
Her breathing hitched then, and before she could protest, Lachlann leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth. It was a light touch, the merest brushing of the lips, and yet it sent a jolt through his groin that made him catch his breath.
Reaching up, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She trembled, and he leaned in for another kiss. This time he lingered, and when she sighed, her soft lips parting slightly, he slid the tip of his tongue between them and deepened the kiss.
Adaira moaned.
The sound unleashed something within Lachlann, a hunger that he had trouble controlling. She was a maid; this was likely to be the first time she’d ever been kissed. He didn’t want to frighten her.
But he couldn’t stop. His tongue explored her mouth as they melted into each other.
Lord, she’s delicious.
Maybe it was the wine, but he’d never enjoyed a kiss like this. His hands ached to reach down and explore her lithe body, caress those lush breasts. He’d never wanted anything so much. He was grateful that the loose folds of his braies hid his arousal; he didn’t want her to panic.
Then his hand grazed the tip of her left breast, and she gasped against his mouth.
Heat surged through Lachlann. He’d only leaned in to steal a kiss, yet the sounds she made nearly made him forget himself.
With a great effort, he pulled back from her.
Breathing hard, they both stared at each other. The sight of her parted lips, her eyes hooded with desire, made him stifle a groan of his own. Suddenly, he ached for Adaira MacLeod—and yet he knew to take things any further would ruin her. He wasn’t a man with many scruples, and yet even he couldn’t do that.