His hand smoothed down her back. “Are ye warm now?”
She bit her bottom lip, choking back her honest response. Nay! She was hot! Painfully hot, and in places she never knew could ache.
“I’m fine,” she said, relieved by the coolness of her tone.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, nestling close. “I know mine will be.”
“Good night,” she answered stiffly, praying her dreams were sweet...sweet and proper and full of restraint.
Chapter Seven
Girlish laughter echoed in Nathan’s mind as he opened his eyes. Standing in the shadowy glade was a young lass with ten and four years. Bits of hay and grass clung to her black, unbound curls and green tunic. She smiled, her beautiful face warm and full of life.
“Come along, Nathan,” she laughed. “Catch me if ye can!”
“Cait,” he whispered, reaching out his hand.
The lass turned and started to run away from him.
“Come back,” he whispered, but she faded away, becoming nothing more than mist and memory.
He closed his eyes against the vision as familiar as the ache that stole his breath. He clung to the woman in his arms, waiting for the pain to pass. The scent of her hair surrounded him. Her softness and the evenness of her sleeping breaths calmed him. Pressing a kiss to her brow, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
“GOOD MORROW, NATHAN.”
Nathan stirred, slowly opening his eyes. Shadow still lingered, but birdsong ushered in the promise of morning. He lifted his head and smiled at Elora, her smooth hand at rest on his chest. “Good morrow, my lady.”
She looked up at him expectantly. “Ye’re holding me so tightly, ‘tis a wonder I can still breathe.”
Chuckling, he lay his head back on the ground. “Ye’re warm, aren’t ye?”
She cleared her throat. “As much as I appreciate yer...er...help, I would prefer if Declan did not know that I spent the night...” Her words trailed off.
“Lying in my arms,” he finished for her.
“Precisely.”
Nathan closed his eyes and for a moment, a breath, he held her tighter, drawing comfort from her embrace that reached soul-deep. Then, slowly, he loosened his arms. She pulled away and began to sit up, taking away the solace of her touch.
He forced his eyes to open and his legs to stand. Every breath and step he took pushed it all down, all his pain, deep down; until, there was nothing.
“Let us wake the others,” Elora said, drawing his gaze.
Her delicate features came into focus. The stern set had returned to her jaw. Her shoulders were pushed back, and her spine was as rigid as ever. He forced his lips into a smile. “Ye’re eager to be off, I’d wager.”
“We must leave straightaway.” She turned and crossed to Declan’s side. Crouching down, she gently shook the older warrior awake.
Nathan turned to find Caleb already standing. Nathan nodded in greeting before retreating deeper into the thicket to relieve himself. When he returned to the clearing, the others had already mounted their horses.
“We ride,” Elora said, her tone and bearing, once again, that of a lady used to giving orders.
He mounted his horse. “Lead on.”
Her blue eyes flashed wide for a moment as if she were surprised to find him so compliant. He dipped his head to her to further show his cooperation.
With a curt nod, she turned and set out in the lead.
He followed behind her, his gaze trailing over her shapely curves as she bounced in the saddle. He could still feel her body, soft and supple, in his arms, the way she’d clung to him, seeking his warmth, his comfort. He closed his eyes, remembering her sleek waist, the flare of her hips, and her thigh draped over his. Opening his eyes, he nudged his horse with his heel and started forward. A slight smile curved his lips as he watched her in the lead. She rode with rigid discipline, beautiful and statuesque. But now he couldn’t help but wonder about the woman beneath her shield of polished stone.
When they reached the edge of the wood, early morning’s light still clung to the land. The moors stretched out in front of them, rolling and shadowy all the way to the horizon where the sun burned ember-bright. Dark clouds, lined with pink and gold littered the sky.
Once on the open moors, Nathan quickened his pace, bringing his mount alongside Rosie. Elora looked his way for a moment and nodded her head in greeting, but she then shifted her gaze back to the path ahead.
“Do not fash yerself, my lady. We will reach Brodie land this day.”
She turned then and met his gaze. “Reaching home does me little good, if Laird Mackintosh arrives before me.”
He sat straighter in his saddle. “Then we’d best beat him there.”
Their eyes locked. “Yes, we must,” she said firmly.
He smiled slightly and looked at the horizon. “The clouds fade into mist. The weather is on yer side.” Then he turned back to face her. “Our horses are rested. Let us ride!”
A look of unshakable determination entered her eyes as she drove her heels into her horse’s flanks. Then, they raced over the rolling hills like skiffs riding the great waves of the North Sea. The rush of air and the speed of their pace pulsed through Nathan, giving him a rare moment of feeling truly alive.
Stopping only to eat and water their horses, they pushed on through the morning. Finally, when the sun rose overhead, Elora reined in her horse and pointed toward a sprawling village and beyond that a castle strategically positioned on a hilltop with turreted towers at each corner.
Nathan brought his mount to a halt beside hers.
“Brodie Village and Castle Bròn,” she said calmly, her face unreadable, but as always her knuckles were white from her tight grip on the reins. He reached over and covered one of her hands with his. “’Tis all right to feel excited, my lady.”
She jerked her hand away, giving him a curious look. “I know,” she said simply. Then she snapped her reins and set out, once more, at a gallop.
Puzzled by her ever constant restraint, he gave chase after her with Declan and Caleb following just behind. Before too long, moorland gave way to fields, which busy cottars readied for the April planting. They stopped their labor when their lady came into view and cheered, calling her name. She dipped her head in greeting, her regal manner never faltering.
When they reached the village, people, young and old, men and women, raced to greet their lady as she rode by.
“Welcome home, my lady!”
“My lady, ye’re home!”
God bless Lady Elora!”
Upon their first meeting, he had pictured her as a haughty lady, selfish and demanding. Clearly, he had been wrong. The devotion of her people was a testimony of her character.
Leaving the village behind, Elora led the charge up the hill and through the gates of Castle Bròn, straight into the courtyard where a tall man with broad shoulders and long silver hair stood in the center, his arms crossed over his chest.
Elora drew to a halt next to him and slid to the ground. “Am I too late?”
“Nay, but we received a missive yesterday. Laird Mackintosh arrives this eventide.”
“How long do we have?”
“A few hours at best.”
Nathan swung down from his horse. The older man’s eyes narrowed as he met Nathan’s gaze.
“I suppose this is him,” he said, his scowl deepening.
“Aye,” Elora replied. “This is Nathan Campbell.” Then she turned to Nathan. “This is my Steward, Murray Brodie.
Nathan dipped his head in greeting, but the steward of Clan Brodie ignored him and turned to Elora. “Please reconsider, my lady.”
“Do not waste time, Murray. We haven’t a moment to spare.” She seized Nathan’s hand and started to pull him toward the castle steps.
Confused, Nathan asked, “I don’t understand. Time for what? What’s happening?”
Without a backward glance, she shook her head. “I’ll explain later.”
Passing through teeming double doors, they entered the great hall of Castle Bròn.
“Elora,” a feminine voice squealed. Then, in a flash of black curls, a young woman raced toward Elora and threw herself into her arms.
Nathan froze at the sight of the dark-haired lass, his heart lodged in his throat. Tension flooded his body. He closed his eyes. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. It was not the first time he had encountered a lass who resembled the one haunting his dreams...nor would it be the last. Steeling his heart, he watched their happy reunion.
“I’ve been so worried,” the young woman cried. Tears streamed down her snow-white cheeks.
“’Tis all right now,” he heard Elora say in a soothing voice. Then she pulled away. “Deep breath. We haven’t time for tears.”
Nodding, the lass swiped at her cheeks. “I ken,” she said bravely. Then she looked past Elora at Nathan, and then beyond him to where Declan and Caleb stood. “Which one is he?”
Elora cleared her throat and turned, meeting Nathan’s gaze. “Nathan Campbell, this is my younger sister, Temperance. Nathan is my choice.” Then she looked past him. “That man with Declan is his friend, Caleb.”
“I’m pleased to meet ye both,” Temperance said, her eyes bright with sudden joy. A full smile broke across her lovely face.
The sight cut straight to his heart.
She turned back to face Elora. “I have done as ye requested. The guest chambers have been readied.” For a moment, her smiled faltered. “I...I have done well. I do not think ye’ll be disappointed.”
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Elora replied absently.
Caleb came forward then. “Thank ye,” he said to Temperance. “But I prefer to sleep in the stables.”
Temperance looked to Elora for guidance.
“Of course, Caleb,” Elora answered. Then she turned to her younger sister. “Please show Caleb the way.”
Nathan watched Elora proceed with confidence and precision as she turned to face the high dais. Following the direction of her gaze, Nathan noticed several serving women waiting dutifully in a line near the high table to carry out their lady’s bidding.
“Mary,” Elora called. A young maid, as slim as a reed with bright green eyes and brown hair tied back at the nape of her neck came forward and dipped into a low curtsy.
“Aye, my lady.”
“Please take Nathan to his chamber.” Then Elora turned back to face him. “Ye’ll find a change of clothing on the bed. Please dress as quickly as ye can. Mary will await ye outside yer chamber door.”
Nathan’s gaze darted between the maid and the lady.
He looked down at his boots and plaid, which were, indeed, muddy from their journey but no worse for wear. More confused than ever, he turned, looking for Caleb, but his friend was gone.
“Do not delay,” Elora urged him sternly.
He nodded quickly and found himself hurrying after Mary. Clearly, Lady Brodie was in charge of Castle Bròn and everyone in it, and in that moment, he saw no other choice than to follow her command.
DRESSED IN A CLEAN Brodie plaid and tunic, Nathan stood at the altar of the Brodie kirk with Caleb at his side. The chapel was teeming with villagers who smiled at him and whispered amongst themselves.
Caleb leaned close. “I thought she said she was never going to marry.”
Nathan lifted his shoulders. “I thought so, too, but she has appeared to have changed her mind.”
Caleb nodded and straightened. Then a moment later, he leaned close again. “And yer certain ye wish to go through with this?”
Nathan looked at the gathering of excited villagers and was struck by a rush of memory. Once upon a time, he had known the love of family and the comfort of belonging to a clan. In that moment, a rare lightness entered his heart. He turned and met Caleb’s gaze. “I told ye already. I made up my mind to marry her before we left Edinburgh. I just didn’t realize it would happen so soon.”
The priest left the sacristy to stand at the altar, and an instant later the doors to the chapel opened and Temperance entered. She was dressed in a violet tunic and silver surcote. Her black curls framed her pale skin and delicate features, and her smile shone brightly. When she walked down the aisle, the villagers smiled in admiration. She stopped across from Caleb and dipped her head in greeting.
Awash in memory, Nathan faltered for a moment at the sight of her, but then the doors opened again, and Elora entered the chapel on Declan’s arm, chasing away the ghosts of his past. The lady of Castle Bròn wore a cream-colored tunic under a pale-blue surcote embroidered with pink flowers. Her golden hair had been brushed out and left unbound, and upon her head was a crown of evergreens.
She kept her head downcast as she walked up the aisle. Declan stopped when he reached Nathan. Then he turned to Elora and kissed her cheek before he moved to stand with Murray in the front row.
Nathan waited for Elora to look up, but she kept her gaze downcast. Slowly, she placed her hand on his arm, and together, they moved to stand in front of the priest.
When it was time for Elora to face him, she turned and raised her head, and they locked eyes. He searched her face, but her gaze held no warmth, no feeling. She was more ice queen than bride. But then he noticed her pulse quaking at her neck, and when he reached for her hands as the priest had bidden him, her fingers trembled.
“Ye’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Pink stole into her cheeks.
He knew then beyond a shadow of a doubt that a vulnerable and complicated woman lived beneath her cold shield.
He leaned close to whisper, “Ye said ye would never marry.”
Her brow furrowed. “I meant what I said.”
Confused, he gestured to the assembly. “But yer people are here, and a priest. We are going to speak vows—”
“Vows of intent, nothing more.”
He raked his hand through his hair. “A simple betrothal need not take place in a church.”
“This is no simple betrothal. I want a religious ceremony to strengthen our bond in the eyes of the Mackintosh.”
The priest proceeded with Mass, after which they pledged their intent to marry. When they finished, Elora took his hand in hers and turned to face her people. The villagers cheered.
“Ye do know that in the eyes of God and yer people, we are as good as married,” he said for her ears alone.
She turned to face him. “Make no mistake—we have been promised, but that is all. Our union could only be made official if consummated.” She paused, giving him a hard look. “Which will never happen.” Then she turned quickly on her heel and started to walk back down the aisle.
He admired the sway of her hips for a moment, before slowly, following after. When he stepped out into the courtyard, he watched her greet her people with the dignity of a queen. Women brought their bairns close for her to hold and kiss. She smiled kindly and waved, but her formal manner never faltered.
Joining her, he took hold of her hand. “Ye’re still trembling.”
She gave him a stern look. “Please keep ye’re observations to yerself and remember why I hired ye,” she said in a low voice. Then she motioned to Declan and Murray who came forward and began encouraging the people to return to their homes.
“Come along,” she said to Nathan. “We still have to sign the contract.” Then she started across the courtyard toward the castle doors.
Caleb appeared at his side. “I’m confused. Are ye married then?”
“Nay,” Nathan said, watching her hasten up the stairs. “At least, not yet.” Once again, he savored the sight of her hips swaying with feminine grace. “We just have one more thing to do.”
When he made love to her, he wondered, would she lie beneath him cold and lifeless like polished stone or would the secret fire within her ignite.
A slow smile curved his lips. He couldn’t wait to find out.
Chapter Eight
Elora stood on the battlements of Castle Bròn, gazing out bey
ond the Brodie village to the line of warriors riding toward them, bearing the colors of Clan Mackintosh.
Flanked by Nathan and Murray, she held fast to her outer composure, even though her heart pounded.
Nathan shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun. “Who is this man? What does he want from ye?”
She fought down her frustration. “I told ye already. Before my father died, he and Egan Mackintosh had begun negotiations for my hand. Egan believes his claim should be honored.”
He continued to watch her neighbor’s approach. At length, he said, “Is he in love with ye?”
She shook her head. “Like my father, I am certain Laird Mackintosh is incapable of love. He wants to take control of my people, our lands. He wants Clan Brodie for himself.”
Then he turned to her. “Tell me more. ‘Tis important to know our enemy so that we can take advantage of his weaknesses and prepare for his strengths.”
The logic of his words bolstered her courage. She took a deep breath and searched her thoughts. “He desires greater wealth and land above all else, but at the heart of his greed is fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“Poverty,” Murray chimed in. “When Egan Mackintosh was a child, his clan faced ruination from illness and crop failure. Then tinkers plundered their stores. But his people found no reprieve from suffering. Egan’s father was never a strong man, and the struggle broke what little spine he had. The clan continued to suffer even after their land had healed.” A distant look came over Murray’s face. “I remember when Egan was made laird. His people rejoiced. He brought heart and ambition back to his clan. But as their coffers filled...” Murray shook his head sadly. “It was never enough. He became hard and ruthless, just like...” His voice trailed off as he met Elora’s gaze.
The Renegade (Rebel Hearts, #1) Page 5