by Gwyn Brodie
She walked to the window and looked out over the loch. "I'll just say, 'tis a long way to Whitestag Castle. Anything could happen along the way."
CHAPTER TWO
Kila breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the small village of Port-na-craig, with its cobblestone streets lined with shops. A fat black and white cat was stretched out on a bench in front of the bakery, seemingly oblivious to their noisy approach.
The three day journey from Windmere Castle had been exhausting, as well as frightening. A sudden gale had forced them to seek shelter among the great pines, and she'd feared the high winds would topple over one of the ancient giants and strike them all dead at any moment.
They brought the horses to a halt in front of The Black Bird Inn, an old establishment, well known for its fine food and hospitality. She couldn't wait to stretch out on the bed for a rest before supper. A long nap would do her good after sitting a horse for so long.
Fergus and William, two of the fifteen Murray guards accompanying them, quickly dismounted, and helped Verona and Kila from their horses, before assisting Wyn, and Verona's lady's maid, Coira, to the ground. The other guards unloaded their belongings and carried them inside the inn, before taking the horses on to the stables.
Kila shook out her rumpled skirts, and shoved her wind-blown hair away from her face, as she and the two maids followed Verona and Balfour into the brightly lit entryway. The inn was most welcoming with colorful tapestries hanging about, as well as several beautiful paintings of deer and the Scottish landscape. The enticing aroma of fresh baked bread, roasted venison, and oatcakes, filled the air, making her realize her hunger.
A well-dressed robust man hurried across the room toward them, with a multitude of various sized keys dangling from the wide belt fastened around his ample waist. "My ladies, welcome to The Black Bird Inn. I am William MacIntyre, the owner of this fine establishment. Only the best rooms have been prepared for your visit," he said, grinning from ear to ear. If he were waiting for a compliment from Verona, he'd be waiting a long time.
She snorted and looked down her nose at the landlord. "I should hope so. Have our things taken to our bedchambers at once, then have a platter of cheese and bread, as well as a pitcher of spiced wine brought to my room."
His smile slowly faded and his face reddened. He was obviously surprised by Verona's arrogance—but not Kila. She was used to it. "Aye, my lady."
Kila couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor man. She smiled. "Your inn is quite charming, and the smell of food, most enticing."
Verona glared at her.
The man's face lit up. "Much thanks, my lady," he said with a slight bow. He waved to a female servant who quickly led them, along with the two lady's maids, up the stairs and to their appointed bedchambers.
As soon as the door was closed, Kila threw herself onto the grand bed and moaned with pleasure. If it were left up to her, she would skip supper altogether and take a long rest, but Verona would never hear of it. Then she remembered how wonderful the food had smelled. Perhaps she could excuse herself from the table early—once she'd eaten her fill—and return to her bedchamber.
Wyn shook the wrinkles out of a dark green wool gown, a favorite of Kila's, and spread it across the chair. "I'll fetch some water so ye can freshen up before the meal, m'lady," she said, exiting the room.
Kila stretched her arms above her head and closed her eyes. In less than a month, she would be wed. She was not naïve. She knew what happened between a man and woman in the marriage bed—or so she thought. If not, then she would be finding out soon enough. Colin must have found her to his liking, or else he'd not have agreed to the marriage, would he have?
Wyn returned with a bucket of steaming water and poured a portion into the basin. Beside it, she placed fresh linen and a cake of lavender soap she'd unpacked earlier.
Kila was just about to get undressed, when her stepmother stormed into the bedchamber without so much as a knock.
"You are in much need of a new gown for the earl's ceilidh, and there is a most reputable dressmaker right here in Port-na-craig." She placed several coins on the table. "See if the woman has a readymade gown to your liking."
Inwardly, Kila groaned. "I've already many beautiful gowns from which to choose. I'm in need of no more." She didn't want to shop for a gown. All she wanted to do was have her supper and crawl into bed.
Verona's jaw muscles tightened, as they always did when Kila argued with her. "I'll no' have you embarrassing me in one of those drab things of yours in front of the countess. Now hurry, before you miss your supper." She turned on her heel and exited the room.
Kila looked at the maid and blew out a long breath. She didn't understand why Verona suddenly cared what she wore. She never had before. Generally her stepmother was only interested in what she was going to wear, and how she was going to look.
Accompanied by Wyn and Fergus, she left the inn and stepped into the narrow street across from the dressmaker's shop. A horse and rider suddenly appeared from out of nowhere and bore down upon her. Behind her, the maid screamed. A pair of strong arms pulled Kila out of harm's way and up against a hard chest, just as the horse sped past.
In all the confusion, she'd first believed it had been Fergus who saved her, but then she looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.
"Are you hurt, lass?" the man who held her asked in a tongue-rolling brogue.
"Nay," she said, noting his accent and dress was that of a Highlander. He was devastatingly handsome, and his magnificent brown eyes seemed to look right into her soul.
He frowned. "Are you certain?" Concern for her wellbeing was clear in his strong masculine voice.
She nodded. Heat from his fingers burned through the sleeve of her dress, making her a bit lightheaded. She took a deep breath to steady herself.
"I'll fetch Lady Murray, m'lady," sobbed Wyn, before disappearing inside the inn.
Fergus stood nearby, his usually red face void of all color. "I didnae see him, m'lady, until he was nigh upon ye."
"The blasted fool," the Highlander growled, shaking his head. "How could he have no' seen you? 'Twas as if he was bent on running you over."
Her knees suddenly felt weak, and she swayed on her feet.
The Highlander must have realized her predicament, for he lifted her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather.
She should have insisted he put her down immediately, but it felt so wonderful being held in his strong arms. "What are you called?" Kila knew she was being forward in asking, but for some reason, she had to know.
He grinned, and her heart lurched against her chest. "Duncan MacDonell. And you, lass?"
"Lady Kila Murray."
"Glad to be of service, Lady Kila Murray," he said with a devilish grin and a slight tilt of his head. "It appears you're staying at The Black Bird Inn as well."
"Aye, along with my stepmother, her brother, and a small party."
"Then I shall see you to your bedchamber. I think you could do with a bit of rest after what just happened." With Fergus following close behind, Duncan pushed open the door and carried her inside, then headed for the stairs. Before he reached the first step, he was brought to a standstill by the screeching of her stepmother.
"Put my stepdaughter down immediately," she demanded.
Duncan made no move to follow the woman's highhanded demand. "The lass was nigh trampled to death, and is yet unsteady on her feet. I plan only to see her to her bedchamber."
"What the man says is true, m'lady," Fergus offered. "I seen it m'self."
"Nonsense," she said, ignoring the guard's input. "Put her down, or else I'll have my guards take her from you."
Duncan clenched his teeth to keep from telling the wretched female to go to the devil.
Kila gently placed her small hand on his forearm. "Please, I dinnae wish to cause you any more trouble."
He looked into her eyes, the same deep amber as the finest Scottish whisky, and gently set her on
her feet. "Then I bid you good health, my lady."
She smiled. "Much thanks."
With a nod, Duncan headed upstairs to his bedchamber. He would've liked to have spent more time with the bonnie lass, but her condescending stepmother had put a stop to it before he had the chance.
Duncan had meant to stretch out on the bed and have a rest before supper, but he was too much on edge. He propped his shoulder against the window facing and looked down at the street below, where Kila's near accident had happened. Obviously, Lady Murray was unaware of how close her stepdaughter had come to being trampled to death, or else she certainly would have shown more concern for her welfare.
He frowned. To be honest, the whole ordeal puzzled him. The rider would have had to be blind not to see the lass standing out there in the open. Then why had he acted as if he hadn't?
AFTER DONNING THE GREEN wool, Kila picked up the mirror of polished silver and took a look at her reflection. The handsome Highlander found his way into her thoughts, and her breath quickened. She hoped he would be dining with them, for she would very much like to see him again. She sighed and put down the mirror.
Wyn smiled. "A handsome man he is at that, m'lady."
Kila raised a brow. "Whomever are you going on about?"
The maid chuckled, as she loosely arranged Kila's thick auburn curls down her back and about her shoulders.
The door shook, than a knock sounded. "Kila, 'tis time for supper," Verona snapped impatiently. "Join me at once."
Kila smiled. Verona was obviously irritated the door had been locked. She had purposely had Wyn do so, for her stepmother had no respect for Kila's privacy, and had the unsettling habit of barging into her bedchamber, no matter the time of day or night, nor what she was doing.
"Open this door immediately," she demanded.
Kila clenched her teeth to keep from speaking her mind, for doing so would make supper unbearable. She'd rather take her meal in her bedchamber than have to listen to Verona's intolerable nagging. Then of course, she would miss the opportunity to see Duncan again. Duncan. She shivered, as she whispered his name to herself.
"Coming, Verona," she said, as she intentionally took her time getting to her feet and crossing the room. She was tired of having her stepmother dictate her every move, and had been for a long while. Kila opened the door and stepped out into the small corridor.
Verona frowned. "I dinnae like to be kept waiting, Kila, as you well ken," she snapped. As usual, her stepmother, attired in a gown of deep purple that emphasized her pale skin and dark hair, was dressed to accentuate her beauty. And as was expected, she looked Kila up and down disapprovingly, before starting down the narrow stairs.
When they entered the inn's large dining room, Duncan was nowhere to be seen. Kila's heart sank, as she took a seat beside Verona. Perhaps he'd eaten earlier and had already returned to his bedchamber for the night. She tore off a chunk of bread, dipped it into the venison stew and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring its delicious taste.
"A lady doesnae wolf down large pieces of bread, Kila," Verona remarked.
"I appreciate a woman who enjoys her food," declared a masculine voice.
Kila opened her eyes to find Duncan taking a seat across from her, a crooked smile on his attractive face. She swallowed the half-chewed bite, following it up with a gulp of spiced wine.
Verona glared at the Highlander. "Perhaps 'twould be best if you sat elsewhere. There are plenty of other seats about."
Duncan smiled. "Aye, but I'm afraid, my lady, there's no other place I'd rather sit."
Kila bit her lip to hide her grin. It did her good to see someone stand up to Verona for a change. "Thank you again for dragging me out of harm's way." The flickering candlelight brought out the red tones in his long, unfettered hair, and the mischief in his dark brown eyes.
He grinned, causing her heart to flutter. "I was more than happy to do so, lass, and would not hesitate to do so again."
She smiled, reaching for another chunk of bread.
"Do you no' think you've eaten enough, my dear?" Verona asked sarcastically. "After all, women of your shape have a tendency to become rather plump."
Kila jerked her hand away, and her face turned a deep red.
"I'd much rather ken when a woman is in my bed, than have to shake out the covers to find her," Duncan stated, his narrowed gaze on Lady Murray.
Her cheeks pinked, and he knew he'd hit his mark, for she was about as thin as an oak sapling.
Kila quickly looked away, but he saw the hint of a smile before she did.
Her stepmother jumped up from the table, knocking over her goblet of wine, and staining her skirts. "Come, Kila. I'll no' stay in the presence of this uncivilized barbarian for one moment longer, and neither shall you."
Kila's eyes widened, as she glanced between Duncan and her irate stepmother. But before she could protest, Verona grabbed her arm and pulled her from the dining room, while the other guests stared after them.
Duncan crossed his arms and watched them go, wondering how the lass managed to put up with that insufferable female. If she'd been his stepmother, he'd have told her off long ago.
He gulped down his spiced wine, and a servant girl quickly refilled it. It had been pure happenstance that he had stopped at The Black Bird Inn—and lucky for Lady Kila that he had.
After being mysteriously summoned to his brother-in-law's keep, Duncan had left the Isle of Skye, with no idea whatsoever as to what he might be getting himself into. But he knew Ranulf well enough to know that whatever it was, it had to be important.
Starved from a long day's ride with very little to eat, he filled his trencher. And after finishing off a third portion of stew, a full loaf of bread, and a tankard of spiced wine, he grabbed four apple tarts from the platter. He ate one of the tasty treats, and wrapped the other three in a cloth napkin, before stuffing them into his sporran. He took a copper lantern from the table near the door, and a male servant lit the candle inside, then Duncan left the inn to check on Tearlach at the stables.
The stallion whinnied when he saw Duncan, and leaned his head against his chest while he scratched him behind the ears.
He hung the lantern on a hook beside the stall, and smiled. "I've a treat for you, lad." He took out the tarts and held one out to the horse, who gently took it from his hand. A small pile of hay remained inside the stall door, and a scattering of oats left in the feed bin. He always made certain the stallion was well fed, for there had been a time when the animal had nigh starved to death.
Four years earlier, after a turbulent ferry ride in the middle of winter, Duncan and his good friend, Cin MacLeod, had finally reached the Isle of Skye, only to find themselves in the midst of a snowstorm. As they neared Dunvegan Castle, the MacLeod home for many generations, the strong sea wind blew the snow about, until they could see no more than a few feet in front of their faces.
A snort reached Duncan's ears above the roaring wind. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Cin shouted.
He heard it again, and turned his horse, Angus, in that direction.
Cin came up beside him. "Remember the cliffs. 'Twould be easy to ride over the edge in a storm such as this."
"Aye. I'll be careful." Duncan almost didn't see the black foal covered in snow, and for a moment he thought the animal was dead. Then it lifted its head and looked directly at him, before letting it fall back into the snow. He dismounted, as did Cin, and knelt beside the tiny colt.
He ran his hand over the shivering animal, feeling naught but skin and bones. "The wee thing is nigh starved to death. We have to take him with us."
"How do you suppose we do that? He cannae walk."
Duncan thought for a moment. "Help me lift him across my horse. The cave beside the river is close by, and he'd at least not have to die out here in the cold."
It didn't take much effort for them to lift the animal, for he was at least fifty pounds lighter than he should have been. And he didn't pu
t up a fight—he was too weak.
After mounting, Duncan adjusted his plaid to cover a portion of the tiny horse, who pressed his head against Duncan's thigh, then exhaled loudly. At first he though the animal had died, then realized he was only resting.
Duncan spoke softly to him, while scratching him behind the ears and under the chin. When they reached the cave, he and Cin carried him inside and placed him on a pile of dry grass left by the previous resident.
Cin went back for Shadowmere and Angus, and led them to the rear of the cave. "Snow is falling harder than before. We've no choice but to stay the night."
Duncan untied a small sack of oats from his saddle, and poured a portion into his hand. He knelt beside the colt, and held it out to him. At first there was no reaction, then he nuzzled the oats, and slowly ate them. He gave him more, which he also ate. Duncan grinned. There was yet a lot of fight left in the wee lad.
After Cin built a fire, Duncan took his cup from his pack and filled it with snow. He melted it over the flames, and once it cooled, slowly poured it into the colt's mouth. Duncan did this time after time, until he felt he'd given him enough.
Cin watched him tend the colt from where he'd bedded down on the other side of the fire. "Do you think he'll live until morn?"
He shook his head. "I dinnae ken. But if he's still alive, I plan to stay with him, until he either does die or recovers." He bedded down across from Cin, and drifted off to sleep listening to the foal's ragged breathing.
Duncan woke the next morning expecting the worst, but hoping for the best. He sat up and looked over at the colt, whose head was held high. He poured oats into his hand, which the animal immediately ate, then whinnied for more. He was obliged with two more handfuls.
Behind him, Cin laughed. "By the saints, it appears he's going to pull through. It seems you've got yourself a horse."
Grinning, Duncan added wood to the glowing embers. "Aye, it seems I have." He once again melted snow and gave it to the animal to drink, until his thirst was quenched.
Cin walked to the cave entrance and peered out "The snow has stopped falling, and it appears the sun may show its face today. I suppose you'll be needing me to return with food and supplies."