MacGregor's Daughter

by Gwyn Brodie

  Steeling himself, he stood beside the bed, noting with appreciation her tumbled hair, the deep pink of her lips and cheeks, and her wide-eyed innocence as she gazed up at him. "I bid you goodnight, Ceana." He gently brushed his thumb across her swollen lower lip, wanting naught more than to make love to her the whole night through. Instead, he blew out a long breath, and reluctantly turned and left.

  With her body awash with many new and wonderful sensations, Ceana sighed, and let her head fall back onto the bed. How wanton Alex must have thought her when she asked him to kiss her. But no matter. She had wanted him to, and she was not about to chide herself for it—even though she knew her behavior would have been considered quite unladylike by most.

  Ever since the first kiss they shared, she had waited with great anticipation for the next, each more incredible than the last. When the moment seemed right, she had seized it, rather than have it pass her by. She pressed her fingers against her mouth, astounded by the extreme passion, and undeniable urgency that overtook Alex whenever he kissed her, then realized his effect on her was no less. Though she had known him for a short time, she already suspected she was falling in love with him, and the thought of having to leave him brought an ache to her heart, and tears to her eyes.

  ALEX ENTERED THE LIBRARY, and Drostan looked up from where he sat warming himself beside the fire.

  "What took you so long? I was getting ready to go find my bed."

  "I was delayed." Delayed indeed.

  "How is Ceana faring?" The corners of his friend's mouth curved upward slightly. "I'd meant to point out before now, that you apparently forgot to mention what a bonnie lass she is, and had to find it out for myself, the day you introduced us in her bedchamber."

  Alex snorted. "Well now you ken she's bonnie, and doing well, but most weary of having to keep to her room."

  Drostan straightened. "Perhaps I could take her for a short ride around the loch," he said, enthusiastically.

  Alex's mouth dropped open. "You'll do no such thing. She's yet much too frail for such a thing as riding." Of course, that was only one of the reasons. The other was that Alex could not bear the thought of any man, but himself, holding Ceana—even his closest friend—unless it happened to be necessary, of course.

  "But soon she'll be able to sit a horse," Drostan said, grinning.

  Alex shook his head and chuckled when he realized his friend was but teasing. "I'll have you ken, beginning on the morrow, I plan to carry Ceana down to the great hall to take her meals—until she is able to walk on her on."

  "'Tis most kind of you."

  He poured himself a whisky, ignoring the obvious mirth on his friend's face.

  "I saw the two of you kissing," Drostan suddenly blurted out.

  "When?" Alex sputtered, spinning around, sending a good portion of the amber liquid down the front of his shirt. Drostan had to be jesting, for there was no way he could have seen them together and still made it to the library before him.

  Drostan raised a brow and chuckled. "Och, so that's the reason you were delayed."

  Fuming, Alex leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "'Tis none of your concern. Now, tell me what you're talking about."

  "'Twas a few days ago, and I promise, I was not spying on you."

  He snorted. "Then how the hell did you ken we were kissing?"

  "Calm down, and I'll tell you."

  "Then get on with it." Apparently, his friend was enjoying this wee game of cat and mouse a great deal more than he was.

  "Very well. I was headed to my bedchamber, and as you ken, I have to pass by Ceana's door, which had been left open. I inadvertently peered inside and saw the two of you on the bed, embraced in a kiss. To keep the whole of the castle from seeing what I had, I quietly pulled the door closed."

  He had been so focused on kissing Ceana that he had not realized they might be seen by anyone who happened to go past. But he did remember wondering how the door had gotten closed, as he generally left it open, at least a little. He blew out a long breath. "I thank you for that."

  "Alex, are you in love with Ceana?"

  The thought sent a multitude of emotions washing over him. "Truly, I dinnae ken." He walked to the window and stared out into the falling darkness. "For years, Rowena's ghost has haunted me whenever I held—or even touched—another woman. With Ceana, 'tis different. 'Tis but the two of us, when we're together."

  Drostan smiled. "You are in love with her."

  Alex thought for a moment. "Perhaps I am," he admitted, as much to himself, as to Drostan. The thought was both exciting and terrifying in the same instance.

  "Now, what was it you wished to speak to me about?" Drostan asked as he piled more peat onto the fire.

  Alex took a seat on the settle. "A few days ago, I asked Ceana outright if the dogs belonged to her, to no avail. But there could be no other logical reason why the animals would act toward her as they do. I must find out who owned the wolfhounds before they were sold to the man I purchased them from."

  Drostan nodded ponderingly. "Which would give you more information about Ceana."

  "Precisely. To substantiate my more than probable suspicions, would you mind riding to Argyll to find out where that hawker got the wolfhounds?"

  "When do I leave?"

  Alex laughed and shook his head. Drostan was always up for an adventure—dangerous or not. "The day after the morrow, after breaking your fast—if this weather clears up. I'll send several of my men to ride with you and your guards. Leith will go as well. He was with me when I bought the animals and will certainly recognize the man who sold them to me." There was more—much more—to Ceana than she had allowed him to know. It gnawed at him with the same intensity as a dog at a bone, and he would not be satisfied until he learned what secrets she was keeping.

  ALEX WOULD ARRIVE SOON to take Ceana's down to the great hall. Her hand trembled slightly, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Flora entered the bedchamber carrying a wool gown of the deepest burgundy, and a pair of matching slippers. "Ye'll look lovely in this one, m'lady. The laird will think so as well."

  "Much thanks, Flora." She shoved her arms into the bodice and waited for the maid to tighten the laces. "I hope to one day be able to thank Lady Sorcha for the use of her things. They are all so beautiful, and I am most grateful to Ale...Laird MacPherson, for allowing me to wear them, since I have naught of my own, save what I was wearing when I arrived."

  She chuckled. "He's a kind man and a good laird to his clan. He always makes certain those who dwell inside the castle walls are well fed, as well as them who dwell on MacPherson lands."

  Ceana had never, for a moment, doubted his kindness, nor that he was a man who steadfastly shouldered his responsibility, both of which he was showing by taking her down to the great hall himself. Not that she was his responsibility, but he seemed to have taken the task upon himself nonetheless.

  "All done, m'lady," Flora said, once the laces were tightened.

  Ceana realized the bodice exposed a good amount of her cleavage and hoped Alex would notice. Then her face heated at such a wanton thought, even as the anticipation formed a knot in the pit of her stomach.

  A knock sounded at the door. "I'm here, as promised, to take you down to break your fast this morn, Lady Ceana," Alex called out from the corridor.

  "Just a moment." She straightened the skirts out over her legs, then nodded to Flora.

  The maid opened the door and curtsied. "Morn, m'laird."

  "Morn, Flora." He looked past the servant to the bed where Ceana waited. Her heart drummed against her ribs, as he came toward her.

  "You look lovely, my lady." His gaze dropped for the briefest of moments to her chest, which sent an unfamiliar excitement sweeping through Ceana. He looked at her like no man ever had, and she quite enjoyed it. "Much thanks, my laird," she said, with a slight tilt of her head.

  "Are you ready?"

  She smiled and nodded.

  He gently lifted her
into his arms, grateful to once again have her there, and carried her down the stairs and into the great hall. The noise level in the room dropped considerable as he crossed the room and gently deposited Ceana onto the cushioned seat beside his own.

  Ceana gasped. "But I mustn't sit here. 'Tis the Lady of Blackstone's seat."

  He smiled and sat down. "No matter. I want you here beside me," he said, then after washing his hands, he filled the trencher between them with bread, meats, and cheese. "Would you care for some porridge?"

  "Aye, please," she said, drying her hands, before taking a sip of her ale.

  Soon a bread bowl, filled with steaming porridge, was sitting before her. And after adding lots of creamy butter, and just as much sweet honey, she took a bite. "Ummh, 'tis so good."

  Alex chuckled. "I've never seen anyone enjoy their porridge so much as you do."

  She but smiled, then took another bite.

  His gaze did not stray far from her, while he broke his own fast, and Alex suddenly realized he was happier than he had been in many years, and he knew it was because of naught else than the young woman sitting beside him. Drostan had been right. He was in love with Ceana. Did he dare to dream of a future together, or would her secrets keep them apart?

  Ceana glanced around the crowded hall. As pleased as she was to finally be able to eat at the table, she prayed no one there would recognize her. In the far corner, a MacPherson guard tore off a chunk of bread. He went to shove it in his mouth, but when his gaze met hers, his hand froze in mid-air, and his eyes narrowed. With her pulse pounding in her ears, she quickly looked away.

  Had he only been curious as to who she was? Or had he recognized her as being a MacGregor—as she feared Art Grant had? If so, then what would the guard do? Tell Alex she was really a MacGregor, and a liar as well? Or bring Lyall Campbell and his murderous wrath down upon them all? She looked across the room at Art Grant, who had provided her with food and given her shelter—and prayed she was wrong.

  THAT AFTERNOON, A KNOCK sounded at the bedchamber door, and Ceana's heart thumped against her ribs. Earlier, she had sent Flora to tell Art to come to her bedchamber, even though she feared what he might have to say.

  Flora opened the door, and Art stepped into the room.

  "Would you mind leaving us alone?" she asked the maid.

  "Aye, m'lady." The maid warily eyed Art as she left, leaving the door partially open behind her.

  "Please, sit down," Ceana said, indicating the nearby settle. "When we last met, you said you needed to talk with me alone." Her chest tightened, as she waited for him to speak.

  "Aye, but I'm not certain ye'll believe me, lass."

  "Why dinnae you let me be the judge of that," she managed to utter above the pounding of her heart.

  He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. "I'm your uncle, Artagan MacGregor, your da's younger brother."

  Ceana's breath caught in her throat. His speech had changed dramatically. "How do I ken you're telling me the truth. I dinnae remember a great deal about my uncle, but I do remember some things about him and my aunt Allison."

  He thought for a long moment before speaking. "When you were very young, you and your family visited Glenmure Castle. Your father and I took you out to the stables, where Ginger the cat, had birthed seven wee kittens. You took a particular fancy to a yellow one, and James allowed you to have it."

  The childhood memory came rushing back to her. "Amber, I called her. I took her with me when we escaped to Teineaer. She was well into old age when she died. I buried her beneath her favorite oak tree near the stables." Ceana had dearly loved Amber and was heartbroken when she had lost her.

  Art nodded. "I ken."

  She glared at him. "How could you ken? You never visited us."

  "James and I saw one another often. We usually met in a village tavern where neither of us was known. And most of our conversations were about you and Eliza."

  Tears sprang to her eyes at the mention of her mother. "Why did he not tell me you were alive?"

  He snorted. "Do you really need an answer, Ceana?"

  She slowly shook her head. They were MacGregors. That was answer enough. "Why did you wait until now to confide in me and not before?"

  He raked his fingers through his thinning hair. "Once I realized who you were, I wanted to tell you, but I've kept to myself for so long, dodging anyone who might eventually figure out who I was. I thought it might be best to let sleeping dogs lie. But when you rode off alone—with a snowstorm on the way I knew James would not have approved of my actions, and I went after you. I'd planned to tell you I was your uncle, once I caught up with you."

  Ceana's heart told her he was telling the truth. How else would he have known about Amber? "And Aunt Allison?"

  "What I told you before was the truth. She died in childbirth, along with the wee lass."

  "I'm so sorry, Uncle Artagan."

  A faraway look came into his eyes. "My Allison was a kind and loving woman."

  She thought for a moment. "Glenmure Castle, that's why I recognized the plate in your camp. 'Twas Aunt Allison's. She had several of them if I remember correctly."

  He nodded. "Aye, but that was the only one left, after the Campbells attacked Glenmure. Once the killing was finished, they took what they could carry, then set fire to the rest. For their noble service, the king granted them the castle and lands," he spat.

  Her eyes filled with tears. "I should have told you earlier. My parents are dead."

  Art sighed. "I'd already guessed as much, even before you left my camp."

  "'Tis only the two of us left," Ceana said, patting his hand.

  "Perhaps for now, 'tis only myself you have, but I've seen the way the young laird looks at you, and the way he tended to your every need at the high table this morn."

  Her heart danced. Did Alex truly care for her? "I cannae help but to fear, that once he learns the truth of who I am, he'll feel differently."

  "Perhaps, and perhaps not. In my opinion, he's a good man and will show you naught but kindness. He's already proved the sort of man he is by taking in a complete stranger—two, counting myself. Now, lass, there's something I need to ken."

  "What is it?"

  RETURNING FROM THE stables, Alex spied Flora coming down the stairs, a peculiar expression on her face. "Is something amiss?" he asked the maid as she drew near.

  She curtsied. "I'm not certain, m'laird. That man, Grant, is with Lady Ceana, and she asked me to leave them."

  Alex took two steps at a time on the stairs, as he hurried to the upper floor, then quietly slipped down to Ceana's bedchamber. He would find out soon enough what Grant was up to. How dare the man sneak up to see her without seeking his permission to do so, even if she did send for him?

  "What in heaven's name happened at Teineaer Castle?" Grant's voice echoed out the gaping door.

  Alex went to push it open, then stopped. He was by no means an eavesdropper, but he had to know the truth, and by the saints, he was finally about to hear it.

  "I knew something terrible had, or else you'd not have been traveling alone," Grant continued. "Your father, God rest his soul, would never have allowed it."

  Ceana exhaled loudly. "I'd finished breaking my fast and gone to the solar in hopes of completing a piece of needlework for my mother's birthday. A few minutes later, an earsplitting crash sent me running from the room and to the landing to see what was happening below. Campbells poured into the castle through the shattered door, killing whomever they encountered in their lust for blood. One of them came up the stairs after me. I ended up wounding him with my blade, allowing me enough time to get to the laird's lug and lock myself inside."

  She sobbed loudly, and Alex's chest tightened. She must have been absolutely terrified while fighting for her life.

  "There, there, my dear," Art said consolingly and sounded genuinely concerned.

  Alex frowned. "Why would she choose to confide in Grant, whom she had said was a stranger to her? Had she and
Grant lied to him? And if so, why?

  She took a deep breath and continued. "I watched helplessly as my father was murdered. Then their chief, Lyall Campbell, slit my mother's throat when she refused his advances." Her sobs grew louder.

  Alex leaned his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes. He wanted to go to her, hold her, comfort her, dry her tears, but then she would know he had been listening outside the door. No wonder the poor lass had been out in that snowstorm. She had been running for her very life! Still, he had no notion of who she was, for no clan name had been mentioned in the conversation he had overhead—save for the Campbells, who had destroyed her home and killed her family.

  His path had crossed that of Lyall Campbell's several times over the years. The whoreson used his mission of pleasing the king as an excuse to kill and inflict pain upon others. He was a cruel and brutal man. Thank the saints he had not managed to get his hands on Ceana before her escape. Just thinking about what could have happened to her made his hands curl into tight fists. With her sobs still ringing in his ears, he forced himself away from the door.

  SIX DAYS HAD PASSED since Drostan had left for Argyll and he had yet to return to Blackstone. Alex stood at the window of the solar watching snow fall from the dark gray sky. It was quickly blanketing the frozen ground, which meant even further delay. He exhaled loudly. If his friend had not returned in two days hence, he would go in search of him. But knowing Drostan, 'twas more than likely he was waiting out the storm inside a warm and pleasant inn, a whisky in one hand and a lass in the other.

  Pouring himself a dram, he tossed it back, immediately feeling the effect of the fiery spirits all the way to his gut. He poured another, and his gaze fell upon the door separating him from Ceana. Tearing his gaze away, he drained his cup. He wanted her—that he could not deny. Truth be known, he could hardly keep from reaching for her whenever she was near.

  Though it had been almost a fortnight since that last heated kiss in her bedchamber, 'twas still crystal-clear in his mind. He closed his eyes, remembering in vivid detail the delectable sensation of her enticing full lips pressed against his. It struck him how easily she peaked his desire, unlike any other woman—even Rowena—ever had. His only consolation was carrying her to and from the great hall, and her daily trips to the stables. Once she could walk again, he would not be able to do even that. Not that he did not want her to walk, he certainly did. But he would miss her arms around his neck and her curves pressed against him.