by Gwyn Brodie
"Aye, enough for two horses and myself for a few days."
Cin grinned. "Food for them, I can manage, 'tis enough food for yourself I'm concerned about."
Duncan chuckled. "Dinnae forget the tarts. You ken how much I like Cook's tarts."
"How could I forget? No one else gets any when you're about." After giving Shadowmere a good portion of oats, he led him outside and mounted. "I'll be back soon."
"Have a care," Duncan shouted from the cave entrance, as Cin rode off toward Dunvegan Castle.
He returned several hours later along with two MacLeod clansmen, Charlie and Will, and a horse loaded with supplies. He handed Duncan a package wrapped in cloth, and grinned.
Duncan held it up to his nose. "Apple tarts." He quickly opened the cloth and sank his teeth into one, savoring its sweet goodness. "Ummh."
"How's he doing?" Cin dismounted and glanced inside the cave.
"Much better. See how his ears twitch? He's alert and listening." He dropped down beside the colt and offered him a piece of his tart, which he greedily ate, then tried to grab what was left. Duncan let him have it.
They all laughed.
Will took a closer look at the colt, then turned to Charlie. "Do ye think he looks a wee bit like that mare we found at the bottom of the cliffs close to a month ago?"
Charlie nodded. "Aye, he does, at that. Might 'ave been his dam."
Duncan looked at Cin. "That would account for him being alone, as young as he is."
Cin nodded. "Doing without his dam's milk, and having little grass to eat, would certainly explain his condition."
After the supplies were carried inside, the three men returned to Dunvegan.
Tearlach, as Duncan had taken to calling the colt, grew stronger, and by the end of the third day managed to rise to his feet, though his legs trembled from the effort.
Duncan patted his nose. "You've the heart of a lion, wee Tearlach."
The horse nudged him.
"Looking for more tarts, are you? Eat your oats, then I'll share another tart with you."
Cin returned every other day to bring supplies and see how they were doing. Each time he was amazed at the animal's improvement. The day finally arrived when Duncan felt certain Tearlach was strong enough to travel the short distance to Dunvegan.
Duncan was keeping a close watch on Tearlach as he drank from the nearby stream beside Angus, when he spotted Cin in the distance. The colt lifted his head when he saw Shadowmere, then kicked up his tiny hooves and raced across the meadow, before returning to Duncan's side.
"He'll make you a fine horse. He's spirited, like my Shadowmere."
Duncan smiled. He'd realized that, when, even near death, the colt had lifted his head and taken oats. When they left the cave, Tearlach walked alongside Angus all the way to Dunvegan. The colt had grown so attached to Duncan that he followed him around outside the castle like a dog, and constantly squealed when he was out of his sight. He ended up sleeping in the colt's stall to keep him calm, which caused the MacLeod guards to neigh at Duncan when they passed him by. He hadn't minded their teasing, for it had all been in good fun.
Tearlach grew into a massive steed, for once he started eating he never stopped. He'd been an easy horse to train, and obeyed Duncan's every command. The bond between them was one he cherished greatly.
Now, even though The Black Bird Inn's stables was filled with horses milling about, and the occasional mouse scurrying in the hay, the place was quiet. "G'night, lad," he said, patting the horse's neck. He took the lantern down and left him happily munching on the last tart, and returned to the inn.
With the lass haunting his thoughts, and a couple of drams of fine Scottish whisky warming his belly, he left the noisy common room and headed up the carpeted stairs to his bedchamber for a good night's sleep. When he reached the end of the corridor, he found Kila standing before the window, her angelic face tilted up to the full moon.
"'Tis a remarkable sight, to be sure."
She jumped. "You startled me," she said, pressing a hand to her throat.
"I didnae mean to, lass."
She smiled. "'Tis not your fault. I was deep in thought and didnae hear your approach."
He crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall, taking note of her breathtaking beauty. She had the most kissable mouth, with full lips he'd like naught more than to taste. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders, and the urge to slide his fingers through her long curls was almost overpowering. "What could possibly require such deep thought?"
She sighed heavily. "I dinnae wish to discuss the matter. I'd much rather just stand here and stare up at the moon."
"Mind if I stare along with you?" He liked being near her.
She chuckled. "Nay. I would welcome the company, but if Verona finds you here—or me—for that matter, I'll be in for a good scolding."
He frowned. "I mean you no disrespect, lass, but I cannae see how you put up with such poor treatment from your stepmother." In fact, it angered him greatly.
She nodded. "I understand. My father wed Verona when I was but sixteen summers—four years after my mother's death. Her treatment of me has never been kind, but has become quite harsh since my father's death a month ago." The moonlight glinted off of unshed tears.
"I'm sorry." He ached to draw her into his arms, to again feel her body pressed against his own. His heart pounded.
She tilted her lovely face up to his. "Much thanks."
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he took a step closer. She didn't move away, when he leaned down and gently brushed his lips across hers. Desire washed over Duncan, as a soft moan escaped him. He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes, brightly shining in the pale moonlight. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms and kiss her again.
"Forgive me. I dinnae ken what came over me." He shook his head to clear it.
"I should return to my bedchamber," she said, her voice a bit unsteady."G-Good night."
"Good night." He watched her hurry down the dimly lit corridor, already missing her. He blew out a long breath. At least, he'd be able to break his fast with her on the morrow, and perhaps, they could talk more then.
Before entering her bedchamber, Kila turned and looked back at Duncan, still standing where she'd left him, watching her. Trembling, she slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind her, then tiptoed across the room to her bed. She didn't wish to wake Wyn, who had fallen asleep on her pallet long before Kila had gotten back out of bed, dressed herself, and quietly left the room to clear her thoughts. With head reeling, heart pounding and body shaking, she removed her clothing and slid into bed.
She blew out a long breath, amazed that a single kiss could wreak such havoc on her body. It wasn't as if she'd never been kissed. She had been, several times, but none of those kisses had taken away her senses, as did Duncan's gentle caress of her lips. She lifted a hand to her mouth, touching where his own had been pressed only moments before, and shuddered.
A wave of guilt washed over her. She was a betrothed woman, and should not be kissing a strange man in a dim corridor, even if he was most handsome and had saved her life. She should have said as much to Duncan, but at the time, her betrothal to Laird Monro had never so much as entered her thoughts.
AS HE MADE HIS WAY to his own room, Duncan blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his hair. What was the matter with him? He'd not meant to kiss her, but saints above, how he had wanted to. He remembered vividly the sweet taste of her full pink lips, and desire swept through him.
He closed the door behind him and undressed, tossing his belted plaid and shirt over a chair, before dropping his boots onto the floor. After placing his broadsword, targe and dirks within easy reach, he slid naked beneath the bed covers. He laced his fingers behind his head and thought about Kila. He shouldn't have kissed her. He knew that. For doing so would make it that much harder to keep her from his thoughts. More than likely, after tomorrow, he'd never see the tantalizing lass again.
CHAPTER THREE
Early the following morning, Verona was waiting for Balfour when he came through the door of the inn. "Where the hell have you been?" she snapped.
He glared at her. "'Tis none of your business, as I've told you before."
The mixed odors of strong perfume, sweat and whisky assaulted her, and she forced herself not to retch. "Come, we have to talk."
He followed her into the inn's small garden. "Before you speak, I already ken what you're about to say. The man I hired to run Kila over has failed his assignment."
She sighed and slowly shook her head. "'Twould have been over and done with, and Colin, mine—if only you hadnae hired an idiot to do the job, and that blasted Highlander hadnae come along and pulled her to safety."
He blew out a long breath. "As you said, sister. 'Tis a long way to Whitestag, and there will be other opportunities to rid yourself of Kila."
She nodded. "'Tis true." She thought of Colin, and how, whilst he was at Windmere, he had helped her from her mare, on one of the occasions they'd gone out riding together. She'd placed her hands on his broad, muscular shoulders and pressed her body against his, as she slid down the length of him. She'd seen his green eyes darken with desire, and he'd held her in his arms longer than deemed necessary, before releasing her. Verona had wanted Colin Monro from the first moment she laid eyes on his handsome face, and she was certain he wanted her just as much. All she had to do for them to be together is rid herself of Kila—and she would—if it was the last thing she did.
DUNCAN WAS AWAKENED from a deep sleep by loud voices. He threw back the covers and reluctantly crawled out of bed, then looked out the window at the street below. To his dismay, he found Kila and her party, mounted and ready for departure. He'd hoped to talk with the lass while they broke their fast, for he'd found he very much enjoyed her company. At least, then he could have said goodbye.
He memorized her temptingly curved mouth, her flawless skin, her whisky colored eyes, and the auburn curls blanketing her straight back and shoulders. He swallowed hard; startling himself by his reaction to someone he had known for such a short time.
She glanced up at his window as she rode away, and their gazes held for a moment, then she was gone.
Duncan blew out a loud breath, and raked his fingers through his hair, wondering if his and her paths would ever cross again.
Kila's hands shook, and she grasped the mare's reins until her knuckles whitened. Dinnae be daft, Kila! She'd known the Highlander for only a matter of hours, and she should push him from her mind. But Duncan, in all his masculinity, wearing nary a stitch as far as the window would allow her to see, had caused an unfamiliar tingling in the pit of her stomach.
His skin was a beautiful bronze, and well-honed muscles covered his arms, shoulders and chest, and rippled over his flat stomach. She well remembered the hardness of his body beneath her hands when he had carried her into The Black Bird Inn. How might he feel with naught between her hands and his skin? Her breath quickened and she suddenly felt quite warm. He caused a stirring in her she'd never felt before.
In comparison, she felt naught for the man she was to marry, but perhaps time would change her feelings for Colin. Once she was wed, would her thoughts no longer be occupied by the handsome Highlander? She sighed. Or was she destined to spend her married life comparing her husband to a man she hardly knew?
THE WIND HAD PICKED up and a light rain had started to fall when Duncan rode through the gates of Stonehill Keep. After handing Tearlach over to a stables lad, he made his way inside the castle and to the great hall, where dozens of people were in the midst of supper. That suited Duncan just fine, for his stomach had been growling for the last few hours.
A broad smile spread across his sister's bonnie face as he crossed the great hall to the high table. "Bless the saints! You've made it here safely, wee brother." Her brown eyes, the same deep shade as his own, shimmered with unshed tears.
Her husband, Ranulf Moncrieffe, Laird of Stonehill Keep, and the Earl of Riverglen, chuckled. "I told you no' to fash yourself, my dear. 'Tis good to see you, Duncan," he said, as the two men gripped forearms.
"'Tis good to see you as well, Ranulf." He kissed Aileen on her offered cheek, before taking a seat across from her and filling his trencher. "I'm starving."
Aileen chuckled. "I knew you would be." A dark curl fell across her forehead, and she swiped it away. Duncan smiled. Born with a thick mass of curls, Aileen generally looked as if she'd been caught outdoors during gale force winds. As a young child sitting on her lap, Duncan had loved twisting her soft curls around his fingers.
He devoured the venison stew and warm bread, then reached for more.
She motioned to a young servant girl. "Let Cook ken my brother has arrived."
The girl curtsied and hurried away, but soon returned with a platter of apple tarts, which she placed directly in front of Duncan.
"Much thanks, lass," he said with a wink, eliciting a blush from the young servant girl, who quickly curtsied and returned to her duties.
He picked up a tart and took a bite, then closed his eyes. "Delicious, as always," he said, before shoving the rest into his mouth, and taking another from the platter. "These were well worth the journey, but I've a feeling there's more to my being summoned to Stonehill Keep than to be fed apple tarts."
Ranulf chuckled. "You're correct, lad. I've a favor to ask of you." He idly stroked his short beard, the same shade of light red as his long hair.
He nodded. "I thought as much," he said, taking a third tart, which disappeared in three bites.
The earl rose to his feet. "I think we should continue our conversation elsewhere. A lot of big ears about, you ken."
Duncan grinned, and after a nod to Aileen, he followed his brother-in-law out of the great hall and into the library.
"Please, sit down." Ranulf poured two drams of whisky and handed one to Duncan, then leaned against the massive oak desk that took up a major portion of the room. "An old and dear friend of mine took his last breath recently." He paused a moment before continuing, as if his friend's passing weighed heavily on his shoulders. "He arrived here one day, a short time before his death, accompanied by his brother, James. To say I was shocked by his appearance would be an understatement. The once vigorous man I knew was naught more than a skeleton. He was pale, and his stomach pained him greatly. He and his family had spent a week at Stonehill four months earlier and he had been the vision of health. He made a request of me, which I could no' refuse. I was to see his only daughter escorted safely to Whitestag Castle, when the time came. I'm certain he knew he was dying, is why he came to me," Ranulf said, staring into the fire. "You see, without anyone's knowledge—even the lass's—he had betrothed her to Laird Colin Monro. That day, right here on this desk, the arrangements were made between her father, her uncle and myself. That was the last time I saw him alive."
Duncan frowned. "Why did he choose Colin Monro?" He didn't know the man personally, but had heard he was a trustworthy and respectable laird.
Ranulf took a sip of his whisky. "I asked him that very thing. He said that Monro was a friend of his, and a good man. He believed he would be kind to his daughter and see that she would want for naught."
"I'm certain a hefty dowry came along with her, as well."
"Aye. Quite a sizeable one, I must say."
"Let me see if I understand you correctly. You wish me to take this young woman into the Highlands and safely deliver her to Monro?"
He nodded. "Aye. But I'll not be sending you alone. Connor and Eadan will be arriving here shortly to accompany you."
Connor MacLeod—a cousin of Cin's—and Eadan Matheson were Duncan's foster brothers. His father, the Laird of Kinnacraig Castle and the MacDonell chief, had fostered both boys from the age of eight until sixteen summers, and they were as close as blood kin to Duncan.
He nodded. "Good. I look forward to seeing them both. Before I head to my bedchamber, are you going to tell me who th
e lass is, or do I have to guess?" he teased his brother-in-law.
Ranulf laughed. "Of course no'. She is Lady Kila Murray, Laird Larson and Ilisa Murray's only child."
Duncan felt the blood drain from his head. Kila? Betrothed?
"Are you unwell, lad?"
"Nay, 'tis just that I ken the lass. She's betrothed—to Monro?"
The earl leaned forward and raised a brow. "How well do you ken her?"
Duncan scowled. "Not that well. I but kept her from being trampled to death in front of The Black Bird Inn a few days ago." He decided to keep the kiss they'd shared to himself. "A strange thing, that."
Ranulf frowned. "I'm most pleased you were able to save her, but what do you mean?"
'"Twas as if the bastard meant to run her down."
The earl shrugged. "Perhaps he didnae see the lass."
Duncan shook his head. "Nay. She was clearly in his sight."
"Then it appears I've chosen the right man to be her guide and protector. Will you do it?"
He nodded. "Aye." He got to his feet, wondering why he had so readily agreed.
"Good. Your sister and I will be eternally grateful. Larson, his wife, Ilisa, and the lass, spent many a day at Stonehill before Ilisa's untimely death. Aileen and I always thoroughly enjoyed their visits. According to the missive I received yesterday from Kila's Uncle James, the new Laird of Windmere Castle, she should arrive here the morning of the ceilidh, unless her party is, for some reason, delayed."
He had thought often of Kila, and the idea of seeing her sent a ripple of excitement through Duncan. He'd never expected to see her again, and wished it was under a different set of circumstances that he would be.
"If you spent the night at The Black Bird Inn as well, how did you turn up here three days before their expected arrival?"
Duncan smiled. "They had three horses loaded with their belongings. That alone slowed their travel considerably. Besides, after traveling to Stonehill as often as I have, I ken all the short cuts, and made good use of them."