Rose stirred, her eyes blinking open. She remained still, curved on her side, and grinned at him from the pillow. “You are up,” she whispered, her voice roughened by sleep.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, inhaling the heady scent of their passion still in the sheets. “I need to make plans below, even though I’d rather remain with ye.” He plucked at her chin softly. “And we should talk…about us.”
She stretched contentedly. “I prefer action to talk,” she said.
His groin twitched as the sheet slipped enough to show her full breasts. He reached below, adjusting himself. “Och. If ye keep that up, to hell with France, England, and Scotland.”
She chuckled softly, yanking the sheet higher and shooing him with one hand. “Go. I will be down soon.”
With another kiss that was meant to be quick but lingered, he tucked her back in the warm bed.
“Cullen,” she said and hoisted herself up on her elbows, the sheet clutched before her. “Joyeux Noël. Merry Christmas.”
She was completely, bewitchingly delectable propped amongst the pillows, quilts, and furs. Like a Christmas gift when he was a boy, Cullen felt the nearly overwhelming desire to pounce on her. He smiled. “Joyeux Noël.” His simple French words made her smile broader. He ran the back of his finger along her smooth cheek and looked closely into her clear eyes. “We put Madeleine Renald to rest last night. Ye are always welcome here as Rose. Ye can stay with—”
“But I am not welcome here,” she whispered, her smile sliding away from her lips. She gave a brief shake to her head, glancing down at the bedclothes. “Your uncles—”
“Can go to hell.”
“With the English across the strait—”
“I am not afraid of the English,” he said.
She opened her lush lips to respond but closed them slowly, allowing a smile. “I know you aren’t.” She squeezed his hand in a way that said she was done with the discussion. “Go on, then.”
He studied her, but her beautiful face gave nothing away of what might be tumbling inside her head. “I will see ye below.”
“Oui.”
Cullen shut the door behind him and made his way along the still-dark corridor. Could Rose not wish to stay at Dunyvaig? Stay with him? Despite his oath while loving her last night, she hadn’t let him ask her to stay with him. He paused on the steps, glancing back up them, tension pulling at his forehead. It was true that Rose was used to luxuries that weren’t practical for life on Islay, but she was happy here. Or, at least, she seemed happy here. Of course, she was.
Throwing off the ridiculous concern, he continued his descent and rounded the corner of the archway into the great hall. Errol stood at the hearth. The Yule log lay unlit, and there was no sign of William or Farlan.
“Merry Christmas. Have ye been here long?” Cullen asked, and Errol leaned the poker against the hearthside.
“Merry Christmas to ye, too.” He shrugged. “And I slept here.”
“Did he lock ye out or did ye not bother to go home?” Errol still lived in the cottage he’d grown up in with his parents. When his mother died, he’d remained.
“I stayed in case any frightened villagers wanted to unroll their pallets.”
When Cullen had left for the night, none of the villagers had come, preferring to stay in their homes on Christmas Eve. Errol’s explanation was not the only reason he’d stayed. Cullen raised one eyebrow at his friend.
Errol shrugged. “And it’s better to let him bang around the cottage on his own when he’s like that.” Errol shook his head and sniffed. “We’ve always had different ways of looking at things.”
Cullen let the weight of his hand fall on his cousin’s shoulder. “I thank ye for your support.”
Errol grinned. “I wouldn’t be much of a second-in-command if I refused it.”
Cullen used the poker to move over the burning peat. “Help me light this log,” he said, and Errol lifted with him to move the Yule log into place. Cullen set a burning taper to the dried flowers on top that had been sprinkled with last year’s ashes. It was Christmas, after all, and the morning after a perfect night.
Cullen brushed his hands. “Any word about the farmer on the coast?”
“Garrick returned an hour ago to say that no beacons have been lit to show boats coming across, and Murdock is well and good. De Fleur must have hidden his ship in one of the coves off Colonsay Isle with instructions to come back for him today.”
“Murdock needs a beacon set up at his farm,” Cullen said. “He has a good view of the north from his shore.”
“Have ye figured out what to do with de Fleur and his man below?” Errol asked as they walked down the corridor toward the kitchens.
“Aye. If de Fleur hasn’t hanged himself overnight, cut him down but keep him tethered to the bars with his hands behind his back. Take a flask of water down, and if his crewman wishes to share, so be it. Send the crewman back to his ship later this morning with a message that Madeleine Renald is no longer here, and if their message is sent to the English, de Fleur will die. If de Fleur falls to my sword, we will give his body to Captain Taylor and let his English dogs hunt down and capture de Fleur’s ship.”
“What if he doesn’t fall?” Errol asked as they paused before the kitchen door where the scent of freshly baked bread gave a cheerful smell to their bloody talk.
Cullen met Errol’s gaze with the strength of an oath. “Henri de Fleur will definitely fall to my sword. But I wouldn’t bloody Christmas by doing it today. Let him get the strength in his arms back for a day to make it a fair contest.”
They ducked into the kitchen and left minutes later with a platter of fluffy scrambled eggs and several tarts. Cullen picked up the tune Jillian, the cook, was humming and whistled as he and Errol walked back through the corridor toward the great hall.
“Since when do ye whistle?” Errol asked as the great hall came into sight. “Could it be that ye didn’t move Rose back to her own room last night?”
His best friend stood before him. Would he remind Cullen of his duty to the clan? Rebuke him for falling in love with a Frenchwoman? But to hide his happiness would be the biggest lie he’d ever contrived. Cullen met Errol’s gaze and let a satisfied smile spread across his entire face.
Errol chuckled back in his throat and shook his head. “I’d say ye found your cheer.”
“Bloody hell, yes,” Cullen said, once again glad that Errol wasn’t his father. He spied Broc dragging his feet as he walked in. Their cousin yawned and raised an arm in greeting.
“Damn,” Errol said. “He’ll take all the eggs.”
Cullen’s chuckle cut short at the sight of his uncles stepping up from the entryway. Would the day see them occupying another cell in Dunyvaig’s dungeon?
“Is he still alive?” William asked without preamble.
“Not sure,” Cullen answered and spooned some egg into his mouth. “Haven’t been below yet.”
“Ye should be down there questioning him,” Farlan said.
Cullen swallowed and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I go down there, I’ll slit his damned throat.” He gestured to the table. “Ye are welcome to eat.”
“I’ll check on the bastard,” Errol said around a mouthful of egg. “Broc.” He waved his cousin over while fishing the key out of his leather pouch.
Before William could question him further, Tor strode out of the archway from the stairs, Ava at his side. It seemed the castle was waking.
“How is Rose?” Ava asked.
“Very well,” Cullen said with a grin he couldn’t hide. “Resting.”
Tor raised one eyebrow. “From what I could hear when I happened up to your floor to walk the roofline, I’d say she’ll be resting most of today.” He yawned and flinched away as Ava smacked his arm, a look of bewildered innocence on his face.
Ava looked warmly at Cullen, despite the still-sharp glance she gave Tor. “Let her know that we think only good things of her. That she’s brave and stro
ng, and we are very much in support of her. Heaven knows, I certainly understand the need to escape a monster.”
Tor pulled her closer in to his side and kissed the top of her head, his face darkening at the memory of Ava’s sadistic stepbrother.
“Thank ye,” Cullen said, ignoring the wide-eyed look from his uncles. “I will let her know.” He indicated the eggs on the table. “Have some while they’re still warm. The cook will be bringing more soon, and tarts.”
“Mmmm…” Ava said. “I love tarts.” Tor pulled her around and kissed her soundly. Their baby, soon to arrive, would be raised by a loving family. A memory surfaced of his father pulling Charlotte into his embrace to dance about their cottage. Anderson Duffie had given Cullen more than his height; he’d given him an example of a loving marriage. Could he be lucky enough to secure one, too?
Grace and Joan walked together from the back, and Hamish with Garrick came in from the bailey. Ellen rolled a cart in from the kitchens, laden with more eggs, tarts, fresh milk, bread, and bannocks. Cullen took a plate to save some food for Rose. If she didn’t come down soon, he’d take it up to her. The thought launched a mischievous grin on his face.
“What about this day is humorous to ye?” William asked from the hearth where he’d retreated, pacing with Farlan. Neither of them had eaten, which was probably making them even more ornery than usual.
Everyone in the hall stopped their chatter. Cullen stood near the table with Rose’s plate in hand. “It is Christmas Day, Uncle. A time for forgiveness and a lightness of heart.”
“Ye don’t intend to forgive de Fleur, do ye?” he yelled, his eyes bulging.
Cullen’s look turned lethal. “That bastard sealed his fate the moment he tied a rope around a courageous lass’s neck.”
William seemed to deflate with relief. He sank into a chair. Did he actually believe Cullen would invite the French captain to dine with them? Cullen looked around the hall. “De Fleur will meet me in a one-to-one battle to the death, but not today. Today is Christmas, and unless attacked, I don’t intend to honor the day by spilling blood at Dunyvaig.”
Farlan nodded in approval and passed the sign of the cross before him.
“Father Langdon will hold mass at the noon hour in the chapel,” Charlotte said, reminding everyone. “It is Christmas despite kings, pirates, and the English army.”
“Beautifully put,” Grace said, picking up a tart from one of the platters.
Perhaps it was the combination of the holiday and vestiges of his night with Rose making him feel charitable, but Cullen set Rose’s plate down to walk over to William. The man had grown old overnight, his face weathered and pale. Farlan still paced, but William kept his stare centered on the flames.
“Uncle,” Cullen said, pulling his gaze. “I have spoken to Errol and Broc. Your son is sound of mind, a good adviser. Ye taught him well.” Cullen leaned against the mantel. “Dunyvaig will continue to thrive. The shores are being watched, beacons at the ready. De Fleur is in our dungeon. War does not start today. It can start tomorrow.”
William opened his mouth, but Farlan spoke up first. “Errol doesn’t have the experience that comes with age.”
Cullen nodded, willing to give him that. “Ye are right. After breakfast we can sit down as a council to discuss my plan for dealing with this threat.”
“We must move quickly,” William said, finding his voice. “Before they send that letter to Captain Taylor.”
“His man will be released today, to warn the crew not to send that letter. We will follow him to see which way he rows. If the letter is sent, and the English arrive, we will have the captain of the ship tied up in the dungeon, not sitting at our table.”
William stared at him, weighing his words. He neither nodded approval nor glared, but worry continued to tighten his mouth. He apparently still didn’t put much faith in Cullen’s ability as leader.
Behind Cullen, feminine laughter pulled him around. Mairi strode into the hall, and on her arm walked Rose. Head held up, chin even, she wore a neutral face as her beautiful eyes took in the occupants of the room. Her green dress hugged her breasts, sloping to cascade over her hips. She nodded to Charlotte, Ava, and Grace, as well as Ellen. They surrounded her with whispers and smiles. Ava took her hands, squeezing them as Grace spoke while waving her arms in broad gestures.
“Excuse me,” Cullen said to his uncles and strode across to where he left her plate. The ladies seemed to part as Cullen walked up. “I wasn’t sure if ye’d be down so I saved ye some breakfast.”
Relief set in the softness of her mouth. “Mairi did not wish to come down alone.”
“Aye,” Mairi said. “I about dragged her from the bed.” She grinned broadly, a teasing glint in her gaze. “It’s Christmas, after all.”
“Aye, it is,” Beatrice called from the entryway. She and her mother traipsed into the hall, shaking their shawls that held a fine covering of snow. “I thought we could redo the pageant today.” She looked to Rose. “Ye can watch this time. Garrick volunteered his younger brother to play the shepherd.” She turned to Charlotte without waiting for any response. “Edward said he’d bring back the musicians after mass to accompany us.”
“Very well,” Charlotte said, and looped her arm through Joan’s. “We will eat earlier so there is time for dancing again tonight.” She looked to Cullen, her brows raised.
“Aye, Christmas should be celebrated,” Cullen agreed. “I lit the Yule log.”
Broc and Errol returned from the dungeons, their faces grim. Broc went straight to the food. “They are both still alive,” Errol said. His nose scrunched up. “Smelling foul and yelling even fouler.”
“Luckily, we couldn’t understand most of it,” Broc said while chewing. He grinned. “We tied the captain to the bars like ye said. The rope rubbed bloody around his neck during the night. He’s tethered now, sitting. Put the crewmate into the adjoining cell with a flask, until ye’re ready to send him back with a message.”
Cullen watched a pallor wash over Rose’s face. He leaned in to her ear. “All will be well, wildcat.” He caught her gaze and waited until her lips curved slightly, and she nodded. Before everyone, he kissed her quickly on the lips and walked by. He gestured to Broc, who stood there, mouth hanging open. “’Tis Christmas. Let us talk about foulness away from here.”
“He’s nothing to fret over,” Errol added, looking at Rose as he followed Cullen. “De Fleur is tied tightly, behind iron bars as thick as my forearm. And there are only two keys, one kept by Cullen and one by me.”
Tor, Garrick, and Hamish followed them toward the hearth where William still looked shaken and Farlan paced. His uncles might have been Gerard MacDonald’s sons, but they certainly didn’t have the old chief’s steadfast calmness in the face of turmoil. Let them hear the rest of the plan he’d set in motion. With de Fleur in his dungeon, for the first time since discovering that Rose was French, Cullen had a way to protect both Dunyvaig and the woman who had stolen his heart.
…
The day dragged by as Rose forced herself to chat with the kind ladies from Aros, even though her mind drifted to the monster tethered in Dunyvaig’s dungeon. Mairi had insisted she come down so it would look like they’d left their room together, although Cullen’s kiss fairly shouted that they were lovers. With the revelation that she had been raised to be a courtesan, she’d expected coldness or forced politeness from the ladies. On the contrary, Charlotte, Ava, and Grace seemed just as warm. Even Mairi, with her quirked smile to hide what Rose had decided was a secret inclination for Cullen, continued to be welcoming despite finding Rose in his bed that morning.
Joy blew steadily at the embers that had been Rose’s cold heart, stirring it with hope for the first time since her escape from Henri. With his ship so close, a bounty on her head, and MacDonald enemies a boat ride away, it seemed she stood in limbo on a razor’s edge between Hell and Heaven. If she could but fall into Cullen’s arms on the side of happiness. But what would that look like?
Cullen’s words last night had been adamant, and even in a foreign language, Rose had known what he’d professed to her. He’d said he loved her. Her heart clenched, and her stomach rolled. Loved her. He deserved her own in return, but did she even know what love was? Was she truly worthy of love?
Rose’s attention snapped forward as the small crowd around her applauded. Beatrice, dressed as the Virgin Mary, curtsied on stage next to Errol, who once again played Joseph. Garrick’s brother made a much more convincing shepherd than Rose had. She joined in the clapping, brushing off the worry that had crept in despite the Christmas fun around her.
Beatrice took Errol’s hand, twining her fingers with his. He looked down, startled, and she whispered something to him. Could she have shifted her sights to Cullen’s cousin?
Next to Rose, Cullen’s upper arm pressed against hers. She turned her face to him, marveling at his strong profile before he met her gaze. His warm brown eyes held such brightness, as if all the merriness in the world danced within him. His sensuous lips curved upward, and he leaned in to her ear.
“If ye keep looking at me like that, I will throw ye over my shoulder before all these good people and proclaim to them a good night as I carry ye above to my bed.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest, making her feel almost giddy. “Cullen,” she whispered with a laugh, glancing to his side to see if Charlotte could have heard her son. But she spoke to Ava.
Cullen stretched his arms overhead and yawned loudly over Edward’s strumming as the musicians started a sprightly tune. “I’m exhausted,” he said. “Think I might retire early.”
“What?” Charlotte asked, her chin set back like a perturbed hen. “It’s Christmas night. There’s dancing and games.”
Cullen’s wicked glance told Rose very well that he had games in mind, but not the kind one played before an audience.
She raised her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “It’s been such a long day,” Rose added. “But I think I can manage a dance or two.” She stood and held out her hand to Cullen. “See if you can recover a bit. For Christmas and your mother’s sakes.”
The Rogue of Islay Isle (Highland Isles) Page 18