She hesitated.
"Look," he said, amused. "We can no longer be enemies. My brother will soon be wed to your sister."
She offered her smaller hand, setting her jaw. "But there is still the matter of my land you have taken from me."
He clasped her hand warmly and then released it, breaking into easy laughter. "Aye, there is the question of the land." He took the reins from a stable boy and lifted easily into his saddle. "But that argument," he told her, feeling good about himself, about this woman and about their future, "that argument we shall save for another day."
He reined his mount around and thundered out of the bailey, through the gatehouse, and into the open meadow toward home.
* * *
Munro galloped over the drawbridge that led into Rancoff Castle's bailey. Ahead he saw a crowd of familiar faces. It was good to see the walls of home, good to see the men and women who served him. Under any other circumstances, he would have halted in the meadow to take in the view of his beloved Rancoff. But not today.
"M'lord..."
"Master..."
His clansmen, vassals, and servants clustered around him, their faces red from the wind, their eyes round with relief. There were many smiles, but a few nervous frowns.
"Good to see ye safe, m'lord," called his blacksmith.
"Welcome home, my lord."
"Missed ye, we did, master," cried Alice the chicken woman, her apron filled with eggs.
Munro felt as if he'd been gone two years rather than two weeks. He tossed his reins to the stable lad and strode toward the yett, yanking off his leather gloves. There would be time to greet his men properly later. He wanted to hear what they all had to say. He had to know where they stood on preparations for winter, he wanted to know how the hunting had been. Had his steward returned from Edinburgh yet?
But first he had another matter to attend to.
"Where is he?" Munro growled.
"Your brother, my lord?" His steward's son ran on gangly legs to keep up with him.
Robert was a good lad. Smart like his father. Elen said he had been helpful when she came, not afraid to speak up, unlike most of the others, and give her assistance. He would not forget that.
"Aye. My brother." He eyed the boy, who looked as if he had grown a foot in the last fortnight. "Your father has nae yet returned?"
"No, my lord, but I have seen to his duties, I swear I have. Just like ye and he was here."
Munro mussed the lad's pate of tangled red hair. "I knew I could count on ye, Robert. Ye shall be rewarded for your loyalty. We will speak later." The boy halted as Munro passed into the front vestibule.
"Aye, sir. Thank ye, sir."
Munro took the curving stone steps one at a time to the second floor of the great hall. It was neither as large nor as grand as that at Dunblane, but it had great character, with its wainscoted walls, massive stags' horns fastened on the wall, and minstrels' balcony. And unlike Dunblane's hall, which had been added a century after the main tower, Rancoff's great hall was as his great-great-uncle Munro had built it. That thought often gave Munro comfort. Rancoff was his father's legacy and his father's before that. And someday, God willing, his son's legacy after him.
Munro's mud-encrusted boots pounded the hardwood floor as he entered the hall. His brother and a striking blond woman sat at the table in the center of the room, down at the far side. Obviously, this was Rosalyn. Some men might have thought her beautiful beyond words, but Munro already had his heart set on a redhead. To him, Rosalyn's comely looks were common and, worse, only skin deep.
"Cerdic," Munro barked. He had vowed before he passed over the drawbridge that he would not do bodily harm to his brother, only scare him. But now on seeing him, Munro's blood boiled once again. Perhaps he could strangle Cerdic until he merely passed out, rather than to death.
"M-Munro." Cerdic shot up out of the great chair at the head of the table. Munro's chair. "G-good to have y-ye home, brother." He half turned to Rosalyn. He was wearing one of Munro's shirts. "Let me intro—"
Munro reached out and grabbed Cerdic by the ear. "If ye could excuse us for a moment?" he said politely to Rosalyn, with a forced smile. "I would have a private word with my dear brother."
She stared in shock, but made no attempt to rise from her chair. It was probably just as well, else Munro would have been tempted to take her by the ear as well.
"This way, Cerdic." Still holding him by his ear, Munro dragged his brother through an arched doorway into a small chamber that served as his private office. "Close the door," he growled.
"I... I cannae." Cerdic struggled, but not too hard—for fear he might be further injured, no doubt. "Ye... ye hold my ear."
Munro lifted one boot up behind him and slammed the door so hard that a painting of his uncle Munro that hung on the plastered and painted wall rattled.
Cerdic cringed.
Munro released him and pushed him down into the chair at the table where he and his steward did the castle accounts. "What in God's blood-sucking bones have ye done?" he bellowed, not caring if everyone in the castle, if everyone in the Highlands, heard him.
"I'm sorry," Cerdic whimpered. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm verra sorry."
"Ye're sorry? Sorry for what?" Munro's face grew hot with anger. His muscles tensed. He wanted to hit someone—hit Cerdic. It had been years since he had struck out at anyone or anything in anger, but he was sorely tempted now. "Sorry ye took a woman's maidenhead and ruined the marriage her father arranged on his deathbed? Sorry ye took a man's betrothed to your bed? Or sorry I spent a fortnight in a flittering prison cell whilst ye played slap and tickle with that wench?"
Cerdic shook from head to toe as he brought his fingertips to his mouth, a nervous tick he had. "Sorry, sorry for all of that." Tears filled his eyes. "I know ye don't believe me, but I truly am. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Only..." He met Munro's gaze. "I wanted her so badly and... and..."
"Enough!" Munro threw up one hand. This was the way it always went with him and Cerdic. Cerdic futtered up and then Munro repaired the damage. Cerdic was always sorry and Munro always forgave him. Cerdic was family, all he had left of his mother and father.
"Get out of here!"
Cerdic sat slumped in the chair, clutching its polished arms. "What?"
"I said get out of here," Munro spat, gesturing to the closed door. He had thought he could calmly discuss what had happened between Cerdic and Rosalyn right now, but he was wrong. He was still too angry. "Get out of my sight."
Cerdic leaped out of the chair and grabbed for the doorknob. "Aye, Munro. Whatever ye say, Munro."
Munro turned to the table that was littered with pieces of paper, a broken iron lock, one of his gloves, and a letter with the Bruce's seal upon it. He picked up the letter, wondering if the contents were of a personal nature or a matter of state. The Bruce had said he would remain in contact with Munro and send word if he needed him. "Who has run the castle in my stead?"
"I... I... don't..." Cerdic sucked in a great breath. "Me... me, of course."
Munro glared at him over his shoulder. "How many casks of dried fish have been put into the cellars? What is the count on our cattle herd? Did Jake's widow have her child and was it a boy or a girl?"
Cerdic began to tremble again. He, of course, knew none of the answers because he had no idea who had been running Rancoff in Munro's absence. All he knew was who was not. He had been too busy chasing young Rosalyn through the house to be bothered with the work that had to be done.
Munro turned his back on his brother again. "Send Robert up."
"Wh-who?"
"Robert! The son of our steward. Send him to me. And I warn ye, do not let me find you and your lady taking your leisure in my hall when I leave this chamber."
"Aye, Munro. Whatever ye wish. I..." He sucked in another great breath of air and made his escape, closing the door quietly behind him.
When he was gone, Munro dropped into his chair. His desk was a mess. No do
ubt his entire household was a mess. He had hours—nae, days—of work to do.
But he did not want to be here. Instead of attending to his duties, instead of being pleased to be home, all he wanted was to be with Elen again. Even if it meant in her oubliette.
Chapter 13
The minstrels on the balcony struck up a merry tune, and bride and groom began to dance hand in hand down the center of Rancoff Castle's great hall. The main table had been moved to another chamber and the benches pushed against the wall for the wedding ceremony that had transpired a short time ago.
Under ordinary circumstances, the marriage would have taken place on a Thursday and feasting and celebration would have lasted days, ending with the bride being kirked the following Sunday. It had been Elen and Munro's decision that there be only one night of merriment. Their brother and sister deserved no more.
Elen grasped her horn cup and took another sip of the wedding wine, observing the newlyweds. Cerdic was laughing merrily, whilst Rosalyn batted her pale lashes like the virgin she most definitely was not.
Elen gazed into the depths of her cup and watched the liquid slosh up the ivory sides. It was not the loss of her sister's maidenhead that upset her. Obviously, she had no right to call the hare skinned. She herself was still a virgin, but as far as she was concerned, it was only a technicality.
No, Elen understood fully now how a moment could be lost to passion. What she did not understand was the elaborate ruse the two used to have their day in the hay. Had Elen stormed the castle as all her clansmen had advised, men would have lost their lives for the sake of a maiden who did not need saving. And, obviously, Munro should not have been held prisoner for return of a woman who had not actually been kidnapped.
Elen turned away in disrelish from Rosalyn and Cerdic. The two were as alike as twin calves; neither showed any shame for what they had done. As far as Elen was concerned, they deserved each other. And while she felt bad for her cousin for the broken engagement, she was certain now the marriage would not have been a happy one. The young Campbell deserved better.
"'Tis good to see our siblings behave so humbly, nae?"
Elen didn't know where Munro came from, but suddenly he was there. She had been avoiding him since her arrival. Not because she didn't want to see him. All week she had thought of nothing else. It was because she didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do. She could not have this man, no matter how badly she wanted him, no matter how badly he wanted her.
Elen leaned against the dark-paneled wood of the wall, a half smile, half frown on her lips. "There are times when I am ashamed to call her my sister. This is one of them. Not a word of apology from her lips. When I arrived here to see her in her chamber ere the priest's arrival, she asked me what wedding gift I had brought her."
Munro took a swig from the mug he carried and leaned against the wall beside her. Other guests had joined in the dancing. The sound of piping and fiddling and the stomping of the dancers' feet made it difficult to hear each other speak. He leaned closer to Elen. "What did ye tell her?"
She turned to him. "I told her I brought her a swift kick in the arse."
Munro exploded into hearty male laughter. "Aye, Elen Burnard, ye are my kind of woman."
"Nae one word of apology," Elen repeated, beginning to relax. She didn't know why she had been so nervous about coming here today. Munro was so easy to talk to. She felt so comfortable near him. She felt as if she could be herself.
"Cerdic apologizes enough to me for the both of them." Munro tipped his cup, moving closer yet. His sleeve now brushed hers as he leaned against the wall beside her. "He practically dropped to his knees and kissed my boots, begging forgiveness, and has done so all week."
Elen lifted her gaze tentatively to meet his. He was dressed regally tonight in a rich burgundy and green plaid and matching stockings, a burgundy mantle pinned on one shoulder with a beaten copper claspbroach. On his belt, he wore a glimmering copper sheath and short dirk worthy of a king.
The moment she saw him she had regretted not dressing more appropriately. She wore an everyday tunic that fell just below her knees and a sensible wool mantle thrown over her shoulders. Her waist-length, unadorned hair was pulled back in a thick braid. And though she was clean and her hair brushed, she felt plain and ordinary beside him. Finley had suggested she should dress more like a woman... or man of station. Perhaps he had been.
"And did ye?"
He watched her every move, making her feel self-conscious.
"Did I what?"
"Forgive him?" she asked.
He glanced away, watching the dancers spin and clap. Servants were now carrying trenchers of food into the hall from one of the rear doors. The room was packed with people, and the noise was becoming unbearable.
"My brother and I have this relationship," he explained, gesturing toward the oblivious bridegroom. "'Tis been this way since we were children. He doesnae think ere he acts. He gets himself, and sometimes me, into dangerous situations."
"And ye always get him out."
He shrugged. "I am the big brother. My father nae only gave me the responsibility for these lands, but also my only living sibling. I ken it sounds ridiculous, but—"
She laid her hand on his forearm, not caring who saw her. Besides, the wedding guests would all soon be too drunk to remember on the morn what they had seen. "Say no more. I understand." She chuckled and pointed to the bride in her deep red gown, miles of long blond hair rippling down her back. Rosalyn was laughing, having the time of her life. "How could I nae?"
Munro met and held her gaze, and she could not look away. It was if he was a sorcerer and she his possessed.
"Would ye like to dance?"
Elen hesitated. She thought to say no. She did not need to make a spectacle of herself here on Rancoff grounds.
"Come," he pleaded. "Don't tell me ye do nae dance. 'Tis nae a mon or woman on this earth who claims to call himself a Highlander who doesnae dance."
She could not resist his charm. "I dance," she defended indignantly.
"Then dance with me."
Before she could present any argument, he took both their cups, set them against the wall, and clasped her hand in his. He led her out onto the floor, and the guests gave way to the man who had made the festivities possible. The fiddlers and pipers struck up another tune and Munro released her hand to dance a circle around her.
In minutes, Elen found herself laughing, pounding her feet, and spinning with the other dancers. She clapped and wove her way in and out of the men and women, meeting with Munro, parting, only to take his hand again. Then the tune changed to a Highland reel and the women moved to the outside circle, clapping rhythmically. Munro, Cerdic, and the other men moved to the center, their backs to each other.
Elen could not say if Munro was the best dancer in the room. For her, he was the only dancer. He clapped and pounded his feet to the beat of the music, whirling faster, stomping harder, caught up in the moment. There was something about watching the powerful, graceful way Munro moved to the music, the way his plaid swirled at his knees, that set her blood boiling.
As she watched, clapping and keeping time with her booted foot, she could not keep her gaze from the rippling muscles of his suntanned forearms, bared when he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. She could not help but see the square line of his jaw, the hue of his clean, dark hair, or the way his sensual mouth turned up at one corner when he laughed.
She clapped her hands to keep them occupied, but they ached to stroke his bare chest and biceps. She sang with the other guests, but her mouth throbbed with desire to press to his.
Wanton witch, she thought as she met his gaze and he smiled. Caught. The rogue seemed to know what she was thinking, but she didn't care. She didn't want to grow old, a shriveled maid who had never known the love of a man's hands. She could accept her duty to her father and her family, but she couldn't help but think perhaps she owed herself one moment in time. Didn't she have the right to finish what
they had started that night in her bedchamber? The question was, could she love Munro enough in a moment, an hour, a day, to last a lifetime?
As he turned to face her, the music reaching a crescendo, and he reached out with both hands to take hers, and she accepted his invitation. The warmth of his hands, the strength of them was overpowering.
Aye, one moment naked in this man's arms would be enough. She would make it be enough.
They danced facing each other, bringing their knees up high in the Highlander manner, bare thighs flashing beneath their clothing. She twirled and laughed huskily, praying that the strength of the wine and ale would prevent the other guests from paying too close attention to her and Munro. He caught her around the waist and she rested one hand on his shoulder, turning with him. The leather tie at the end of her thick plait of hair gave way, and as she spun her red mane fanned out, tumbling over her shoulders and his.
Munro locked gazes with her, and he did not need to say a word. She knew what he wanted, what he was willing to accept this time—and she knew what she would give him.
The song ended, and despite protests from the other dancers, Munro and Elen broke free and wove their way through the guests back to the wall, where they had left their drinks. Panting, her heart pounding, she drank to the bottom of her cup.
Finishing off his, Munro wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "More?"
She shook her head. It was too loud in the great hall to hear each other speak. The fiddlers and pipers had begun anew and two men beside them were fighting hotly over the type of the arrow that flew truest in cold weather.
"I'm hot," she mouthed, tugging on her tunic. "'Tis too loud."
He nodded. Abandoning their cups on the floor, he took her hand and led her through the crowd of guests. They circumnavigated the center dance floor and took a small, arched doorway out of the great hall.
Though the chamber was small, the air was considerably cooler inside. He pushed the door shut with one elbow, leaving them in darkness.
"My office," he said, leading her through the room. "There's another door this way."
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