“He is that crazed, I know.” Catriona braced her hands on the broad window ledge and turned her face to the freshening wind. “Be warned”—she shot a narrow-eyed glance at Isobel—“if you knew how I’ve felt these past months, you wouldn’t be thinking of men.”
“Kendrew isn’t just any man.” Isobel stepped closer to the window, half certain she could feel the power of the fierce Mackintosh chieftain even here, coming to her on the night wind, beckoning.
To her, he was everywhere.
And ever since she and her two friends had carefully woven their plans, there wasn’t a corner of the Glen of Many Legends where she could escape his image. No place where she wouldn’t dream of his heated gaze devouring her, or how she’d love feeling his hands glide along her body. Or where she wouldn’t yearn for the hot, turbulent desire that she was sure would sweep her if, just once, he’d seize her and crush her to him, kissing her hungrily.
This was a night for kissing.
Ignoring Catriona and her somewhat soured expression, Isobel straightened her shoulders, determining to keep her gaze on the well-loved landscape before her.
Although already evening, the sky shone with pearly luminescence, and the cool, pine-scented air felt rich with custom, legend, and magic. The hills rising beyond Castle Haven’s walls shimmered in the strange, soft light. And—if she looked closely, opening her heart—she could almost see water nymphs bathing in the tumbling cascades spilling down the sides of the highest peaks.
Birdsong filtered through the trees, sweet and musical, almost as if the tiny woodland creatures joined with the night’s wonder to tempt her away, out into the enchantment of Midsummer Eve.
The world gleamed, expectant and waiting.
Isobel’s pulse raced.
Then she made the error of glancing at her friend.
Catriona was watching her as if she could peer into her soul and see the urgency beating there, making her burn to unleash her desires.
“I wish you’d chosen someone else.” Catriona’s voice held a note that could’ve been regret or reproach. Turning back to the window, she fixed her gaze on a single star that sparkled like a jewel in the silvery sky. “When the three of us”—she meant herself, Isobel, and Kendrew’s sister, Marjory—“agreed to each wed a man from a feuding clan, the idea was to keep peace in the glen through our unions.
“That will only happen if such marriages take place.” She shifted her glance to where a second star was just winking to life. “Kendrew isn’t a man to wed. Everyone knows it. He’s in love with his war ax and—”
“It’s only been a few months since our pact—”
“Nae, it’s been over half a year.” Catriona touched a hand to Isobel’s arm. “Kendrew hasn’t even spoken to you in all that time. The one visit he made us was brief and he didn’t spare you a glance. He keeps himself locked away behind Castle Nought’s walls where he surely spends his days sharpening weapons and making pagan sacrifices to Thor. James has invited him here, often enough.
“It would be a small thing to accept my husband’s goodwill. Yet”—Catriona paused to take a breath—“he chooses to shun us all. Some even say he’s planting poison-tipped stakes in the ground around his stronghold. He’s been heard to say he wants to deter visitors from breaking his peace.”
Isobel frowned. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Pah!” Catriona clearly believed he would. “He’d challenge the Devil and all his ring-tailed minions if it amused him to do so.”
“He has Berserker blood.” Isobel secretly thrilled to his wildness.
“All the more reason you should consider someone else.” Catriona clutched Isobel’s hands, squeezing tight. “We’ve grown close since I married your brother and came here. You’ve become the sister I never had, and”—she released Isobel and stepped back—“I couldn’t bear to see you unhappy. Kendrew will only hurt you.”
“Nae…” Isobel refused the possibility.
She did shiver. The sensation that he was near her, all around her, strengthened. She touched the charmed amber necklace at her throat, wondering if Catriona’s gift, or the magic of summer solstice, was the reason she felt so powerfully drawn to him this night.
“Kendrew would never cause me pain.” She stood straighter, flicked her braid over her shoulder. “He doesn’t frighten me and never will. Even Marjory has told us how fiercely he honors women and—”
“He’ll be honoring plenty this night.” Catriona returned to her bed, lowering herself carefully onto its edge. “Or what do you think Mackintoshes do at their dreagan stones on Midsummer Eve?
“They’ll be doing more than dancing in a circle and leaping over bonfires.” Catriona clasped her hands over her belly. “Be glad you aren’t there.”
Isobel wished she was.
“Do not think to sneak there tonight.” Catriona’s glance was sharp.
Isobel crimsoned. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Nae?” Catriona lifted a red-gold brow.
Again, Isobel felt like squirming. But she forced herself to stand still. She also held Catriona’s deep, all-seeing gaze. “I know better than to traipse off into the night, alone and unescorted.”
“Indeed?” Catriona’s brow arched a fraction higher.
“So I said.” Isobel didn’t turn a hair.
“Then you are less like me than I’d believed.” Her friend’s expression softened, the glimmer of pity returning to her lovely blue eyes. “With half the castle abed with a bellyache from bad herring and the rest down in the hall, deep in their cups because tonight is Midsummer, I would’ve thought you’d be tempted to slip away.
“I’ve done the like more than once, as well you know.” Catriona’s tone was quiet, reminiscent. “Back in the days before I was a settled, married woman. Now”—she splayed her fingers across the swell of her abdomen—“I do see things a bit differently.”
“You’re seeing them wrong.” Isobel should’ve known Catriona would guess the thoughts flitting about in her mind this night. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She hadn’t actually planned to until Catriona’s words made the idea seem possible.
Now…
She bit her lip, half afraid Catriona would tell James, causing him to rush out after her, if she dared to sneak out on her own.
But she so wanted to.
She turned back to the window, the night’s sweetness beckoning. Midsummer magic steeped the air, the beauty of the luminous twilight combining with her desire to see Kendrew on the stones until her pulse raced as never before. Longing swelled in her chest, hot and insistent, tugging on long-buried needs deep inside her.
Across the room, Catriona sighed. “You truly do have your heart set on Mackintosh, don’t you?”
“I…” Isobel took a long breath, knowing there was no point in denial. “Any other man pales beside him.” She left the window and started pacing before the fire, a strange sense of triumph beating through her now that she’d spoken openly. “If I see him at his boldest tonight, perhaps I can learn how to attract his attention.”
Catriona snorted. “You have breasts and a comely face. Catching his eye is the least of your worries. The problem is that”—she pulled a small pillow onto her lap, her brow creasing again—“a fast tumble in the heather is all you can expect from him.”
Isobel didn’t want to believe it. “You won James’s heart—”
“James is not Kendrew Mackintosh.” Catriona dismissed her objection, the words dimming the warm glow of hope that had begun to thrum in Isobel’s breast. “I can see no good coming from you sneaking off to Castle Nought tonight. That corner of the glen is also fraught with other dangers. It’s an unholy place, filled with weird mist and darkness. Bare rock and naked, jagged cliffs make it cold and forbidding. Mackintosh territory is nothing like Castle Haven and the wooded hills and waterfalls surrounding us here.
“Nought is a terrifying, unwelcoming place.” Catriona drew the little pillow closer against her middle. �
�They say the wind there carries ancient echoes of dreagan roars. I do believe that is true.”
“I’m not afraid.” To her amazement, Isobel wasn’t.
Catriona frowned. “If something happens to you and James discovers I kept silent about you slipping away, he’ll never forgive me.”
“I never told you I’m going.” Isobel brushed at her skirts, offering her friend the only defense she could against James’s possible wrath. “Indeed, when I leave you, I’ll be heading to my own bedchamber.”
She didn’t say that she’d simply meant to retrieve her cloak.
The crease in Catriona’s brow deepened. But she held her peace, settling back against the bed cushions.
She did send a pointed glance at the small oaken table set before one of the room’s colorful wall tapestries. The table was right next to the door.
“You know”—she looked back to Isobel, her blue gaze piercing—“that my condition keeps me from wearing my lady’s dirk.” She flicked another quick glance at the table where her jewel-hilted dagger glittered in the light of a wall sconce. “Everyone knows sharp objects might cause harm to a wee babe in the womb.”
Isobel nodded, understanding her friend’s unspoken message.
“Thank you.” Isobel touched her amber necklace again, almost overcome by the rush of hope, giddiness, and excitement mounting inside her.
Then, before she lost her nerve, she cast another look at the shimmering sky beyond the window arches, and hurried from the bedchamber.
She snatched Catriona’s dagger on her way out the door.
She doubted she’d need it.
But she didn’t want her friend to worry. Unlike her, Catriona saw danger in Nought’s mysteries, the dark and rock-bound landscape.
Isobel saw adventure.
And—she hoped—the love of a lifetime.
About the same time, but in the dread place of rock and shadow that Isobel and her friend had just been discussing, Kendrew Mackintosh stood in the middle of Castle Nought’s cavernous great hall and stared at his sister, Marjory. Fondly known as Lady Norn for her striking Nordic beauty and Valkyrie-ish temperament, she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with her wintriest smile. She also had the cheek to think that planting herself in front of the door would keep him from leaving the hall.
“You’ll no’ be stopping me from enjoying the night’s revels.” Kendrew folded his arms, incredulous as ever at her flashing-eyed boldness.
Then he grinned, unable to help himself.
“By Thor,” he boomed, “you should have been born a man. If you wielded a sword as sharp as your blazing eyes, no enemy would be safe.”
Marjory set her hands on her hips, her chilly mien not warming a whit. “You’ll be spared my wrath as soon as you read James Cameron’s missive.” Sending a pointed glance at the parchment scroll resting atop a nearby long table, she began tapping her foot. “It’s no great task. Break the seal and give him the courtesy of—”
“Odin’s balls, I will!” Kendrew glared at her, his grin faded. “Breaking thon seal and reading his foolery will only sour my mood. I already ken what he’s after. This new letter will hold the same twaddle as his previous ones, and I’m having none of it.”
“He only wants a few stones for the memorial cairn.” Marjory bent another icy look right back at him. The little brown and white dog sitting beside her skirts eyed him with equal animosity.
Marjory glanced at her pet, and then back at Kendrew as if the teeny beast’s opinion supported hers. “Send James the rocks and”—she curved her lips in an annoyingly superior smile—“he’ll leave you be.”
“Aye, he will.” Kendrew swelled his chest. “But no’ because I do his bidding, I say you.”
Jaw set, he shot a glance at the hall’s high, narrow-slit windows, his irritation increasing to see that the twilight was already sliding into night. The sky still shone with the fine luminosity of highest summer, but the hour was advancing.
The celebrations at the dreagan stones would be well underway.
“You did agree to send stones.” Marjory proved she could be the most vexatious female he knew. “I heard you when we were at Castle Haven to discuss the cairn just a few months past. Everyone heard you.”
Kendrew cut the air with a hand, ignoring her argument.
“I’d rather send Blood Drinker arcing into James Cameron’s skull.” He grinned again, liking the notion.
Blood Drinker, his beloved, well-used, and storied war ax, hadn’t quenched his thirst of late. Giving his finely tooled blade a nice long drink of Cameron blood would do the weapon good.
“The bastard is a bane.” He relished the shock on his sister’s face. “He’ll no’ be getting a single Nought stone for his cairn. Every rock here, even the smallest pebble, belongs where it is.
“Cuiridh mi clach ’ad charn.” Kendrew waited for her reaction. “Have you forgotten that those words mean so much more than ‘I will place a stone on your cairn?’ Has it slipped your mind”—he stepped closer, frowning down at her—“that the old wisdom has little to do with carrying a rock to a man’s final resting place and everything to do with vowing never to forget that man?”
When she flushed, Kendrew pounced. “Every stone on our land, be it on a cairn or in the bottom of a burn, recalls a long-past clansman. I’ll no’ disgrace their memories by seeing even a grain of Nought sand added to a memorial that glorifies our enemies.”
Satisfied that Marjory couldn’t argue, Kendrew folded his arms.
She recovered swiftly. “Word is Alasdair MacDonald sent enough stones to build a small house.” Straightening to her full height, she tossed back her bright, sun-gold hair and raised her chin, defiant. “He—”
Kendrew snorted. “MacDonald is a worse snake than Cameron. With his sister now married to James, the bastard had no choice but to send Blackshore rocks. I do have a choice and Cameron knows what it is.”
“He can’t. You’re ignoring his requests.”
“That’s my answer.”
“The memorial cairn is to mark the battle site,” Marjory persisted. Her dog stood, a cagey look entering his eyes as he started toward Kendrew. A wee creature she’d illogically named Hercules, the dog was clearly bent on performing a favorite irritating trick.
“Call him off, Norn.” Kendrew glared at the dog, his manly dignity keeping him from leaping out of Hercules’s leg-lifting range.
“Hercules, come here.” Marjory used her sweetest tone.
The dog bared his teeth and growled at Kendrew, but then trotted dutifully back to Marjory, where he once again took his place beside her.
“He’s annoyed by your grumblings.” Marjory excused her pet. “And I’m disappointed by your stubbornness.” She took a breath, all cold, northern ice again. Kendrew could almost feel the chill winds swirling around him. “You’re deliberately undermining the peace in this glen. You know there’s to be a friendship ceremony at Castle Haven in two months. If you refuse to send stones, the cairn can’t be completed.”
“Could be I’m for forgetting that slaughter ever happened.” Kendrew grabbed his bearskin off the bench where he’d thrown it earlier and swirled it around his shoulders. “If I think about it, I just want to be there again.” He strode right up to his sister, towering over her. “Only then I’d finish the fight, leaving no’ a miserable Cameron or MacDonald on the bloody field.”
“The king ordered peace.” Marjory didn’t back down.
Hercules growled again.
“Robert Stewart has his royal will.” Kendrew stepped around them both and threw open the hall door. “And I”—he glanced over his shoulder at her—“am off to Slag’s Mound to enjoy what peace is left to me.
“A pity you’ll no’ be coming along.” At the moment, he was secretly relieved.
In such a mood, she’d ruin the festivities.
“Hercules was ailing this morn.” She bent and scooped the wee dog into her arms, coddling him. “I’ll not be leaving him alone tonight.�
��
“As you wish.” Kendrew shrugged, certain Hercules looked triumphant.
He knew a trickster when he saw one.
He was a master scoundrel himself, after all.
Glad of it—and proud, truth be told—he pulled the hall door shut behind him and stepped out into the glistening, silver-shot night.
Marjory needn’t know he had other reasons for being so thrawn about the stones.
His stubbornness was Cameron’s own fault.
The last time he’d visited Castle Haven, he’d told James of seeing several armed strangers. Thick-bearded men in helms and mail, they’d lurked about on a ledge overlooking the waterfall behind the Cameron stronghold.
James claimed his lookouts would’ve spotted any trespassers. He did send men to the falls. No strangers were found. James’s tone upon reporting his guards’ findings implied that Kendrew had mistaken water spray for the glint of mailed coats.
Kendrew said no more.
But he hadn’t forgotten the slight.
Pushing his foe from his mind, he stepped deeper onto the broad landing.
Splendor greeted him, making his heart thud fast in his chest. Castle Nought’s thick, impregnable walls rose seamlessly from the cliffs at the northernmost end of the Glen of Many Legends. And here, in the stone-cut arch of the lofty gatehouse, the whole sweep of his territory could be admired. But he knew that many short-sighted fools didn’t appreciate the windy, steep-sided vista of rock and mist stretching beneath him. Those misguided souls thought of his home as a dark and benighted place, full of cold and menace.
Kendrew knew better.
True men thrived in such wildness.
Soft living created weak men. Those who cowered in gentler climes weren’t worthy of their bollocks.
Knowing he was worthy of his and more, Kendrew reached for the heavy gold Thor’s hammer at his throat and kissed the well-loved amulet.
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel Page 2