The Kindling Heart

by Carmen Caine

  A week or so had passed in this pleasant manner, and Bree had almost regained her full strength. Only the slightest hint of tiredness remained. Merry had taken to cuddling up with her at night, and she had found the small girl’s companionship a great source of comfort.

  One morning she awoke to find Merry perched on top of the chest. Her tiny face beaming a wide grin.

  “I can see!” she whispered ecstatically, pointing to her newly opened eye. “I can see!”

  Bree laughed, her heart lightening at the news. She swept the small girl into a hug. They danced boisterously about the chamber, singing and giggling from the pure joy of it.

  Suddenly, the door crashed open.

  Hearts pounding, they jumped apart.

  “Where have ye been hiding?” Effric demanded, her mouth twisted in suspicion. “And who have ye been with?”

  Bree craned around Effric, searching for Isobel, but there was no sign of her.

  “Well?” Effric prompted with a malicious snarl. “Ruan will nae be pleased to find his wife’s been lying in another man’s bed!”

  “Bree has been with me!” Merry interrupted hotly, moving to stand in front of Bree with hands upon her tiny hips. “And I would say Ruan will nae be pleased to hear what ye’ve to say of his wife, but ‘tis no matter! No one will believe ye!”

  Effric started guiltily and her nostrils flared. She raised her hand, as if to slap Merry but then thought better of it. Instead, she hissed, “Follow me! The both of ye!”

  Bree hesitated. Where was Isobel? Should she even listen to the woman? Isobel had told her to stay away from Effric. She bit her lip, uncertain what to do.

  “Isobel will nae be helping ye now,” Effric said, seeming to read her mind. “She’s in the village, midwifing another of Tormod’s brats!”

  Bree stared in surprise. The woman certainly didn’t seem mad. Unsure, she took a timid step forward. Merry’s hand slipped into hers, and they both followed.

  Effric led them to her private chambers where she ordered them to stand in the center of the room until she bid them elsewise. She threatened that whenever either of them were tempted to move, she’d throw something their direction, a brush, a comb, or a cup.

  There was no sign of Isobel and no one else seemed to care what Effric did. Several times, Bree was tempted to take Merry and run away, but she was not certain of the consequences of such an action. Effric was, even of unsound mind, the Lady of Dunvegan.

  As the afternoon sun approached, the disturbed woman began to pace in front of the window, muttering to herself. Finally, in her most contemptuous voice, she ordered Bree, “Wench, bring me food!”

  She had obviously meant it to be insulting, but Bree was grateful for the opportunity to escape her presence. With a curtsey, she followed Merry to the narrow passageway that led down to the kitchens.

  “She’s horrid,” Merry whispered, skipping alongside her. “But she doesn’t frighten me.”

  Bree nodded in agreement. She wished she could honestly say the same, but Effric did scare her. She didn’t agree with Isobel that she was harmless. There was something unsettling in the woman’s eyes.

  The cook in the kitchen glowered, but shoved a wooden trencher her way. She’d just picked it up when a sudden scream from Merry pierced her ears. She leapt out the door to see a large, blurry shape outside the kitchen, reaching for Merry as she screamed again.

  Bree’s heart pounded. Certain that Merry’s husband had returned to take her back, a deep rage surged within Bree, and not quite knowing what possessed her, she charged forward, swinging the trencher at Merry’s attacker.

  Merry screamed louder. Someone else was shouting. As Bree swung at the huge form, she saw the face of Merry’s assailant. The eyes were dark, smoldering, and widening in shock.

  Ruan?

  But, it was too late.

  The trencher struck him full on the shoulder and on the side of his head. Bread and mutton stew arced in the air as he caught her wrist, twirled her, and trapped her against the wall.

  Bree gasped.

  She was pinned beneath his heaving chest. She could feel the cold stones biting into her back.

  Ruan winced, rubbing his ear and shaking his head before fixing his attention upon her. Paralyzed with fear, Bree could do nothing but wait. Minutes seemed to pass, the eyes boring into hers were unfathomable, and then his lips opened.

  “Aye, but… aren’t ye …a wild beastie,” he breathed, speaking with difficulty.

  Bree opened her mouth to answer, but managed only to emit a nervous squeak.

  Ruan frowned, puzzled, and said “I dinna ken ye, lass!”

  She swallowed and tried again, but without success.

  His chest began to jerk in silent spasms, but it was not until his eyes crinkled with amusement that she realized he was laughing.

  “I left ye nigh dead.” his lip twitched. “I thought to be visiting a grave, not defending myself from a wee vixen attacking me with the evening meal!”

  Bree held still. How could he be amused? Suddenly, she could no longer bear his intense scrutiny. She dropped her eyes to stare at his lips. They were strong, well-defined, as if carved from stone. They were a bit disturbing. Oddly ashamed and confused to be staring, she again averted her gaze to the deep crease in his cheek, and then noticed the hard jaw and the dark hair, carelessly tied back by a leather thong.

  All at once, she was acutely aware of the weight of his body. His hard muscles pressed against her. The heat of his skin was strangely unsettling.

  Color rushed to her cheeks.

  When she met his eyes again, Ruan’s demeanor altered.

  She was not certain what she saw in those dark pools, but she instinctively knew it had nothing to do with anger and violence.

  Oddly, it frightened her more.

  Pressing her against the wall a little harder, he murmured, “I’ve spent nigh a month in the muck, fighting for my life against the MacDonalds. I’ve escaped with nary a scratch only to come home and find myself attacked by a wee slip of a lass!”

  Her throat constricted but she succeeded in croaking, “Merry screamed…and…”

  “Defending her with naught but a trencher and looking like that will only bring trouble to ye both,” he warned in a low voice.

  Bree knotted her brows in confusion. Something in the man’s expression made her heart pound. Intending to push him back, she placed her hands on his chest, but it was a mistake. His chest was broad, hard, and muscular. He was disconcerting, yet at the same time, thrilling.

  “Hold still,” he commanded, but the tone in his voice belied the harsh order.

  Blushing, she tried to wriggle away.

  Ruan’s jaw clenched.

  Cursing under his breath, he moved back, but his eyes dipped, roving quickly over her figure.

  “Ye’d best nae be wandering about this place, especially this night,” he informed her tersely. “The men are drunk and women are scarce here.”

  Bree swallowed, taking a nervous step back.

  “Aye,” Ruan continued, eyeing her thoughtfully. “I’ll be sore pressed in keeping from your bed.”

  The sound of muffled laughter informed her they were not alone. Domnall, Robert, and several others she failed to recognize were crowded close near the kitchen entrance.

  “Them!” Ruan corrected quickly. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he stressed. “I meant… keeping them from your bed!”

  It was not until she noted the faint duskiness covering his cheeks that Bree recalled his words enough to understand the cause of the others’ mirth. Her skin colored with an even deeper shade of scarlet. Taking another step back, she tripped on her skirts.

  Ruan lurched forward, grasping her arm with a steadying grip.

  She stared dumbly at his fingers.

  “Nae what ye were expecting, eh, Ruan lad?” Domnall’s booming voice caused them both to jump. “Ye’d best be asking Robert for the ways of handling a MacBethad lass!”

  “Ach!” R
obert’s bass joined in. “Bree did as she pleased, ye ken well enough…as with every MacBethad I’ve ever seen!”

  Bewildered, Bree turned toward the grey haired man.

  “He is speaking of my Bree, lass,” Robert MacLeod explained with a lopsided and sorrowful smile on his craggy face. “Domnall’s sister, in years long…since past.”

  “I’ve matters to attend. Ye should get back to the tower, Bree,” Ruan interrupted gruffly. Affecting a black scowl, he let her go. As if already forgetting her presence, he grinned at Merry to swoop her into his arms.

  The small girl squealed.

  Bree grimaced.

  How had she confused that happy sound with a scream? She frowned, angry at her own foolishness.

  “The lad sees now, no?” Domnall snorted softly.

  “Aye,” Robert agreed congenially. “But he’ll be denying it for a spell.”

  “I’m still here,” Ruan sent them a dark look. “I’ll thank ye to speak your meddlesome observations out of my hearing.”

  “Ruan!” Effric stood at the foot of the stairs. “'Tis happy I am to see ye!”

  “My lady,” Ruan bowed politely.

  Effric brightened at his gesture. Her lashes fluttered before she spied Bree and then her mouth twisted in a thin line, “Bree, attend me immediately! Come, at once!”

  Bree hesitated. She fleetingly wished Ruan would order her to stay, but he only watched with interest. As she passed by him, Merry pulled down his head and began to whisper in his ear.

  Bree frowned. Of course, there would be no rescue for her. This was, after all, her proper place. She stomped a little on her way back up the stairs. No one noticed, and it did little to appease her growing frustration.

  “Follow me, at once!” Effric hissed.

  Pushing her forward across the passage, she unlocked the door of a small chamber directly opposite the stairs, motioning for Bree to enter.

  Hesitantly, Bree stepped forward, there was no light in the chamber, and she could not see. Then, something struck her on the back of the head, and she collapsed forward, losing consciousness.

  Chapter 10: Spiders and Handsome Men

  It was dark. She was cold. Her head ached and she found her mouth and hands bound with strips of cloth. She was lying on sour straw, and she dared not guess what else. Frowning, she struggled to recall how she came to be here and then remembered Effric.

  She wriggled, chaffing at the bindings. Effric hadn’t tied them well. Muffled sounds filtered through the darkness. She stilled her beating heart to listen. Laughter, the clinking of cups and several raucous songs revealed the sounds of the evening meal, indicating she was near the hall. Hope leapt in her breast.

  It didn’t take long to free her hands and her mouth shortly thereafter. Crawling through the pitch black, she located the door and wriggled the latch. It was jammed. Should she scream for help? If she did, who would come? Ruan had warned her of the men in this place. Where was he? Did he even know she was gone? Did he even care?

  Something ran across her foot, and she screamed. It squeaked. She shuddered. She hated rats almost as much as she hated the darkness and riding horses. She shivered. The shock of the situation was wearing off, replaced by a rising panic.

  A soft tickle brushed her skin, and she screamed again. She danced about, frantically trying to shake whatever it was off before returning to the door. She was tempted to scream for help but Ruan’s warning sounded loud in her mind. It would be best to wait until the nearby sounds of merrymaking had diminished. Another rat squeaked, and she burst into tears. It had been a trying day and now her head ached. She sank to the floor, cradling her head in her hands and allowed herself to sob into her knees.

  She didn’t know how long she remained there, sniveling. It felt like days of torture before the door rattled. Desperate and no longer caring who stood on the other side, she bawled hysterically. It swung open and the light of the torch nearly blinded her. She launched herself forward, desperately, straight into the arms of her rescuer.

  He was tall, imposing and solid. She threw her arms around his neck in pure relief.

  Ruan.

  He took a startled step back, unprepared, but slipped a consoling arm about her waist anyway.

  What ailed her?

  Why was his presence suddenly so comforting?

  “I told ye!” Merry glowered at her brother. “What happened, Bree? Ye stink like a pigsty! Ach, there’s a spider in your hair!”

  Bree screeched, wildly flailing about.

  There was a cracking sound and Ruan swore, clutching his nose. “Be still, ye wee hellion!” he shouted with an accompanying scowl and jammed the torch into Merry’s hand. Capturing Bree’s wrists, he deftly twisted her over his shoulder.

  Bree tried to protest but he was too strong. She might as well have tried to move the walls of Dunvegan itself as he carried her through the hall, past Domnall and Robert’s stunned faces, and up to the tower.

  Merry trotted importantly behind, bringing the torch.

  In a few short minutes, Ruan was in the bedchamber, dipping his shoulder to slide her down the length of him. Pinning her arms behind her back, he pressed her against his chest so that she felt each hard muscle, taut in his stomach. He held her there for a minute. He was uncomfortably close.

  The gleam in his eye reminded her of a falcon eying a mouse.

  Inexplicably, her heartbeat quickened.

  Abruptly, he let her go.

  “What happened, Bree?” Merry hopped to perch on top of the chest.

  Bree drew a long, wavering breath and licked her dry lips. All of a sudden, it was simply too much. Tears began to flow. From somewhere deep inside, a torrent of words poured forth.

  She was saying too much. In fact, she was babbling, but she could not stop. There was so much: Wat, his uncle and her mother’s cold-hearted willingness to trade her for sheep, Afraig’s betrayal and her father’s as well. She’d never wanted to wed. No, all she’d ever wished for in life was to live in Afraig’s cottage by the sea. She most definitely didn’t want a forced marriage to a scowling stranger, though, at this precise moment, she was vaguely aware it was the same scowling stranger gently patting her shoulder. It didn’t matter. There was Effric to fret over and now, the other odd inhabitants of Dunvegan. She’d been in the darkness with the rats. She hated rats. She hated spiders. There had been both rats and spiders in the cold. The room had smelled horrid. She could smell the vile rankness even now!

  She was crying, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and then something pressed against her lips. A burning liquid seared her throat. Whiskey.

  She gasped, choking.

  “There,” Ruan said. “That should warm ye, lass.”

  Bree drew a long wavering breath, startled into silence.

  The corner of Ruan’s lip twisted as he pressed the whiskey to her lips once more.

  Shaking her head, she pushed the flask away.

  “Aye…‘tis vile stuff,” he agreed, shrugging his shoulders. He hefted the flask several times before draining it. “I’ve only taken back to it this past month. I’d sworn off of drink and women years ago … I should really … be done with it all … I’m really nae certain …”

  His voice trailed and it was only then Bree noticed she was standing far too close to him.

  Merry had disappeared.

  Somehow, she’d moved to where he sat on the chest. His powerful thighs pressed on either side of hers; his arm draped casually about her waist. She could feel his chest heaving beneath her breast as she clutched his shirt. Horrified, she willed her fingers to let go, but they clenched tighter of their own accord, digging deeper into the cloth.

  His dark eyes bore into hers, and she suddenly felt as if she were drowning. From far away, she heard her voice crack, “Thank you for … coming for me.”

  “Thank Merry. The lass is quite smitten with ye,” Ruan gave her a half-smile. He grew serious and added, “‘Tis I who should be thanking ye, lass. For all ye’ve done
for my wee sister.”

  Bree swallowed, remaining where she was. She should move away, but there was an odd comfort in the arm of steel encircling her waist. What ailed her? She should be running. Was she no longer capable of clear thinking?

  Ruan leaned close, his lips brushing the top of her ear.

  A chill crept down her spine.

  “I’ve … had a wee bit too much … drink,” he murmured as if in apology. “Ye’d best be … getting out of that gown.”

  Alarm rippled through her, but she could not move.

  “I meant, into something else,” Ruan hastily amended, clearing his throat. “Nae rid of it entirely! Aye, I know … ye have to take it off, to switch … but … ye canna stay undressed…”

  The faint color creeping up his neck was strangely comforting.

  All at once, he exploded, “By the Saints, woman, enough blethering! Ye just wailed your dress reeked of a pigsty! Sweet Mary! I only meant to help! Change and have done!”

  Her dress did reek. She smelled as if she’d been wallowing in muck and there had been spiders. The thought of spiders creeping in her skirts made her panic once again. She leapt from his arms and began to stomp her feet, shaking her skirts in a mad dance.

  He stared at her, open-mouthed.

  Something tickled her neck and she gasped, trying to brush it off, “Is it gone? Is it gone?”

  Ruan scowled, “Have ye gone daft?”

  “The spiders!” Bree shivered uncontrollably, hysteria rising once again. She clawed the laces of her dress and had it half off before she belatedly recalled Ruan’s presence.

  He was staring at her with an expression she decided not to interpret.

  She flushed scarlet. Clutching her dress close, she took a step back. The whiskey must be affecting her adversely.

  Ruan blinked and shook his head a little then reeled unsteadily to lean against the bed. Shrugging out of his shirt and plaid he began to curse profusely as he kicked his clothing halfway across the chamber. Pitching headlong onto the bed, he rolled onto his back and covered his face with a muscled arm.