"I don't recall ever eating a raw carrot before." He quirked a brow. "'Tis something I would feed my horse."
She grinned. "Aye. They're always cooked in our stews, but the raw taste is not so bad."
He chewed another bite and swallowed. "When is Dalacroy's solicitor expected to arrive?"
"Probably tomorrow."
"And Dalacroy did not suspect the deeds were false?" Cyrus asked.
"Nay, thank the saints. No telling what he would've done if he'd figured it out."
"Where are the originals… if you trust me enough to tell me?"
"Of course, I trust you. They're well hidden in the cellar at Darby Hall. I daresay he will have a difficult time finding them."
Cyrus nodded. "In that case, he will try to recapture you and force you to hand them over. 'Twill likely happen tomorrow."
A chill passed along Elspeth's spine. She could've never guessed that Alexander's son could be so evil.
Cyrus's jaw clenched hard. "I'll kill him if he tries it." Eyes narrowed, he shook his head. "When I saw that he didn't allow you to eat with everyone else at his table, I wanted to run him through. I knew you were hungry, and he was trying to torture you by eating in front of you."
"Think naught of it. He turned my stomach. I had no appetite then, anyway." She bit off a piece of carrot and crunched it.
Staring absently at the bottle in his hand, Cyrus frowned. "Makes me think of something that happened in the past." He took a long swallow of the wine, then offered it to her.
She drank a few sips. "About being hungry?"
"Aye."
"What happened?"
He seemed hesitant to reveal the thoughts and memories playing out behind his solemn and soulful gaze. "When I was a lad of seven summers, I fostered with Chief and Lady Comyn of Toramuir, who owed fealty to my father."
Elspeth nodded, hoping to encourage him to keep talking.
"'Twas considered an honor that their overlord entrusted them to help raise his heir. 'Twas also a great responsibility. They were kind enough, but their eldest son, Ben, was a hellion. A cruel lad, even at ten summers."
She frowned, ire stirring in her chest. "What did he do? Refuse to allow you food?"
"He caused me to miss one supper. But when a servant told his mother what he'd done, she punished him."
"I'm glad." Elspeth cast the tough and fibrous carrot stub aside. "I detest bullies."
Cyrus nodded. "I learned to become a strong fighter, at least. As much as I could, I protected the younger lads from Ben. Even though I was three years younger than he was, within a year or two, we were almost the same height. Paul MacTarril was his best friend and cohort in the mistreatment of the lads, his lieutenant, so to speak."
Elspeth gasped. "So that's why you and the magistrate share no brotherly feelings."
"Indeed. I got into many fights and arguments with Paul and Ben. After I'd been there about three years, another laird's son fostered with us. As soon as I saw the wee lad and my foster brothers' snide grins, I knew what would happen. Since they were less successful in beating me up, they would focus all their aggression on this newcomer."
"Oh no." Elspeth's protective mothering instinct rose to the forefront. She dreaded to hear how the tyrants had treated the small boy.
Cyrus frowned. "Patrick was seven summers and half the size of Ben, who was thirteen by that time. Ben had threatened to beat the lad if he ate, but I didn't know it. Patrick told no one for days. He was terrified of Ben and getting thinner by the day. Finally, the boy admitted to me what was happening. I told him to stick with me if he wanted to remain safe, and I forced Ben to back down."
"That was so kind of you." She already had an enormous amount of admiration for Cyrus, but this information made her revere him even more.
"One day, Ben caught the lad alone, and I discovered Patrick on the ground while Ben was kicking him with all his might. I knocked Ben down and gave him a black eye for that. From then on, Patrick stayed near me most of the time and we became friends. He was the closest thing to a brother I had there. But… I should've known better than to make a friend."
"Why? Surely 'tis better to make friends than to be lonely."
Cyrus's expression turned dark and tormented. "At a most crucial time, I was unable to protect wee Patrick. And worst of all, I think Ben did it to punish me because he knew I saw the lad as a younger brother."
"Good heavens." Though Elspeth dreaded the answer, she had to ask, "What happened?"
"Ben held the lad upside down and dangled him from the battlements. I was running toward them, intending to grab Patrick, but Ben dropped him a moment before I could reach them."
"Oh, the poor lad." Tears burned Elspeth's eyes.
"He died instantly. I was overcome with guilt and grief and… rage. Being so young, I didn't ken how to deal with that many painful feelings at once. I tried to strangle the bastard, but someone dragged me off him."
"I would feel the same." She wiped the moisture from her eyes.
"The wee demons tried to blame it on me, but the laird and lady knew I was friends with Patrick. A few of the other foster brothers lied, saying it was an accident because Ben had threatened to do the same to them. Regardless of whether I was labeled a tattletale or not, I told the laird the truth of what had happened. Finally, a few of the other lads revealed what they saw. Even some of the servants on the ground had been witnesses. Chief Comyn could scarce believe the cruelty of his own son."
Her throat tightened and tears stung her eyes. Elspeth could only shake her head, imagining her own precious son in such a deadly situation.
"The boy's father was near destroyed at the news of his death and demanded recompense," Cyrus said. "The foster parents had to pay a high fine, which nearly ruined them. My father took me back home. 'Twas the thing I wanted most in the world, but I would've never wished to lose my friend. When the other lairds and chiefs learned what happened, they removed their sons as well. Most of the Comyn clan's alliances were severed, leaving them vulnerable. Even though Ben was only thirteen summers at the time, he was old enough to know better."
"Of course." She clenched her hands, still jittery from the unexpected emotion. "Where is he now?"
"Last I heard, he had inherited the chiefdom of that small branch of the Comyn Clan. After the slaying, they retained their land, but they had to find another overlord protector."
"'Tis so tragic about Patrick." Elspeth was unable to believe how the story of a lad she didn't know could tear at her soul so sharply. "Just imagining my son in that situation is agonizing."
Cyrus nodded, his tormented gaze clinging to hers. "Tell me of your son. What is he like?"
She wiped the moisture from her eyes and tried to put the tragedy from her mind. "Adam is so bright, wise, and very mature for his age. With his ginger hair and light brown eyes, he favors me a great deal. He's always been very responsible, even when he was much smaller."
"He sounds exceptional."
Feeling proud, she sat up straighter. "I think he will make a great laird someday. He's very industrious and hardworking. His tutors say he is advancing quickly. Although I miss him dreadfully, I knew 'twas time for him to learn at school. I'd taught him all I could, and I didn't want to hold him back."
"'Tis admirable."
"I'm so grateful he isn't here now."
"Does Dalacroy know of his existence?" Cyrus asked.
"I don't know. I hope not. Because of all the children of nobles and lairds who attend the private school, 'tis well protected behind walls, with locked gates and guards."
"He should be safe." Cyrus hoped to ease her mind so she could get some rest tonight. He planned to stop Dalacroy and his men tomorrow, one way or another. If the rest of the MacKenzies arrived, 'twould be far easier and quicker. But if they didn't, he would disable the blackguards one at a time, as he had done earlier that night. He would keep that to himself for now, so Elspeth wouldn't worry.
He hoped he hadn't upset her too
much by telling her of Patrick's murder. He hadn't talked about the lad in years, although he thought of him anytime he experienced a loss or failed to protect someone. Elspeth possessed a compelling warmth that had caused him to blather on too much. She seemed interested and as if she understood.
The wine had likely loosed his tongue as well, he realized as he set the empty bottle aside and got to his feet. "I'm going to drag the cupboard back into place."
After he'd done that and closed the door, he spread out the cloak on the packed dirt floor. 'Haps he should not say what he was about to, for many reasons, but 'twas what felt the most natural. And he hoped she would not object. "Come, lie down here beside me so you can get warm and sleep."
Her gaze both questioning and interested, she arose from the stool. "Will you sleep, too?"
"If I can." And he hoped he could, for tomorrow would likely be a difficult day with much fighting. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe. "Are you still hungry?"
"Nay, I'm fine." She lay down on the cloak.
When an unwelcome bolt of arousal struck him, he glanced away, attempting to rein in his urges. How the devil could he lie beside her, control himself and sleep? He did not ken if 'twould be possible.
"I'll try to find you some breakfast in the morn." He forced himself to focus on her well-being.
"Mayhap I can convince Mistress Brown to provide us something."
"Aye, she should have some bannocks or porridge, at least."
"If not, there are more carrots," she quipped.
Cyrus felt a grin tugging at his lips. "I don't care if I never see another raw carrot." He released the upper part of his belted plaid from the penannular brooch. He needed to use the wool fabric to keep her warm, but the very idea of sharing body heat quickened his blood.
"Goodness, I think I had too much wine," she mused. "The room is spinning."
That was far more than he needed to know. He couldn't take advantage of a cupshoten woman, he decided as he joined her. "Maybe 'twill go away if you lie still."
"Aye."
He covered her arms and torso with part of his plaid. "Are you cold?"
"I was a little chilly, but you're so warm." She turned toward him and snuggled against his chest.
When he put an arm around her, she released a long sigh against his throat, and he felt her delicate frame relax. His body did the opposite. Restrained arousal tensed all his muscles. He drew in a deep breath in an effort to settle down, but this only served to fill his head with her alluring fragrance—a hint of French perfume intermingling with her natural female scent.
"You know something? You're the only man I've ever trusted," she murmured.
Her unexpected confession warmed his heart, for he valued trust highly, but it also sent scorching heat to another part of his anatomy. 'Haps lying beside her was a terrible idea. He had to find a way to distract himself from his roguish thoughts, else he would wind up kissing her like he had earlier.
"In truth?" he asked. "What about your late husband?"
She shook her head against him. "Nay, I didn't trust him. My father forced me to marry him. This thrilled Da, for it cleared his debts and elevated his daughter to a lady. But I thought my life was over. The last thing I wanted was to marry a man older than my father. I was tempted to run away, but I knew I couldn't survive on my own. Nor could I leave my brother and sister to fend for themselves."
Anger twisted in Cyrus's chest that a lass so young had to wed a much older man that she didn't even like. He admired her strength in facing the difficult tasks, both in wedding the man and in caring for her siblings.
"How did you meet him?" Cyrus wanted to know more about her life.
"The year before the arranged marriage, I'd noticed that Baron Grey came into my father's shops often to buy things. Several times per week, in fact. He always watched me and went out of his way to talk to me. He'd been a widower for many years and had no heir."
So, she'd made a hopeless graybeard's dreams come true—a young new wife and an heir. Cyrus hoped he didn't end up an old man with no wife and no heir. 'Twould be hellish, but he couldn't think of that now. His normally sound decision-making ability had gone completely awry. He didn't want to consider what he was going to do about Elspeth.
"Did Grey treat you well?"
"He didn't hit me, but he rarely spoke a kind word either. He seemed to enjoy reminding me how he'd elevated my status by marrying me and how I should be grateful. 'Twas misery being married to him."
What a bastard. Had the old codger not even realized that he was the fortunate one with his beautiful wife and wee son? Cyrus would've hauled him over the coals if he'd had the displeasure of meeting him.
Cyrus tried to shove his annoyance away. "What about your da? Did you trust him?"
"I didn't have much choice."
She paused for an extended moment and he wondered if she would continue.
"When I was eleven summers, my mother died trying to deliver her fourth bairn." Moisture glistened in Elspeth's eyes.
"I'm sorry to hear of it." He stroked her shoulder, hoping to soothe her.
"My world was shattered. I was closer to her than anyone. And she was the person I depended on. How could she be gone so suddenly? What would I do without her? My da took to drinking more and staying out later. I had to care for my brother and sister. We felt abandoned. Sometimes we would sit huddled up in a blanket before a small fire, trying to warm ourselves, but the world had become a cold and barren place. We were scared, but as the oldest, I had to hide my fear."
"Saints," he hissed, his chest aching. "I've done the same thing many times."
"We were especially afraid when Da came home drunk. When he lost my mother, he changed and became someone else. Someone we didn't know."
"'Tis tragic."
"Shortly after I wed Grey, Da grew sick and passed on, too. I'm fairly certain he knew what was going to happen and felt that forcing me to marry a baron would secure my future. Jack and Emmaline came to live with me."
"'Tis hard to lose your parents. I was in my twenties when it happened, but you were far younger."
She nodded. "Were you close to yours?"
"Aye. Ma was warm and caring. Da was strict with me, especially, but 'twas clear he loved all of us. He was kind and generous, but he treated my younger brothers with more leniency. As his heir, I had to be the toughest and strongest."
"Clearly you are." Her words softening as if she were half asleep, she breathed against his chest.
He kissed her temple. "Go to sleep, lass."
Balling her fist in his shirt front, she tugged. "I don't wish to."
His body, which had been on a slow simmer during their conversation, suddenly leapt into a full heated boil. He should get up now and put some distance between them, but… he couldn't. He had to know what scintillating thoughts passed through her mind. "What do you wish to do?"
She shook her head. "I will only say… you, being a noble laird, should not have helped such a fallen woman as I am."
"Nonsense. Do not malign yourself. You're a virtuous lady… one who did what she had to in order to survive."
"Aye, but… I don't feel very virtuous at the moment."
Damnation. He truly wished she wouldn't say things like that. 'Twas too tempting by far, but again he couldn't resist the bait. "How do you feel?"
"Scandalous. Because… you make me feel odd things I've never felt before. Like that night in the tower."
Was she talking about desire? She had never felt it before? Although he shouldn't, he needed to clarify. "What sort of odd things?"
She was silent for a long moment as if thinking it over. "I could not possibly put it into words. Blast. I should not have drunk so much wine. My tongue is getting me into trouble."
'Twas getting him into trouble, too, for he could think of naught but consuming her delectable mouth. He kissed her forehead, instead.
She drew in a sharp breath and looked up at him. "You are a man u
nlike any other I have met."
Her words, spoken in a sincere tone while she stared directly into his soul, made him feel as if he'd been punched in the chest. "That could be a bad thing," he managed to utter.
"Nay, 'tis a very good thing." Her warm breath teased at his lips.
"Why do you bewitch me?" His heart pounded with restraint and temptation.
"Do I? I did not intend it."
"'Tis what makes it so potent." He brushed his mouth across hers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elspeth slid her hand around Cyrus's neck into his hair and pulled him closer, reveling in the sensuous feel of his lips on hers. Saints! She should not do this. He was not hers to kiss. She knew this with her mind, but her heart, body, and soul said otherwise. She could not believe the excitement that quickened her entire being when he touched her. 'Twas as if he lit her spirit on fire. No other man had made her crave being kissed and consumed with his passion. No other man inspired complete trust and safety.
Cyrus claimed she bewitched him, but the opposite was also true. Surely, he was a warlock instead of a warlord.
With his hand along her jaw, tilting her face upward, he stroked his tongue along her lower lip. A bizarre yearning burned inside her. It made her heart beat a turbulent rhythm. She had thought herself experienced, but she was not. Never had the two other men she'd had relations with made her feel such mad and wanton urges. 'Twas why she considered her reaction to him unusual. She hadn't known such desires existed for women.
"Damnation. You taste like heaven," he said gruffly.
"'Tis the carrots," she murmured, then knew not why she'd said such an inane thing.
He chuckled, but quickly deepened the kiss, teasing her tongue with his. He was the one who tasted delicious… like fine wine and powerful male. Her fingers wound into his long hair as his mouth rendered her senseless.
Groaning, he lay back and dragged her onto him, startling her, for she had never lain on top of a man before. "What is…?"
"Shh." He pulled her down to his mouth and kissed her again. On the outside of her skirts, his hands slid up her thighs. "I know not what this madness is, but I don't want to resist it," he murmured. "Do you?"
Highlander Besieged (Highland Adventure Book 10) Page 23