The Kindling Heart

by Carmen Caine

  When he showed no sign of moving, Bree wasted no more time in shedding her gown and shaking her shift. The slow, rhythmic sound of his breathing signaled he’d fallen asleep. She took a long, wavering breath. It had been a trying day. She wanted to sleep herself, but a man now occupied the bed.

  Cautiously, she cast a furtive glance his way.

  Ruan lay on his back, naked, and carelessly exposed. Even in the darkness of the chamber, she could see every inch of him. He was lean, a mass of muscle, his stomach sculpted and his thighs powerfully built. In spite of herself, she allowed a timid yet curious inspection. Her pulse quickened as warmth flooded her.

  Confused, and with a growing sense of shame, she turned her head. The whiskey must be affecting her judgment.

  It was chilly.

  Guiltily, she wrapped herself in Ruan’s discarded plaid, the smell of heather and smoke oddly comforting. She yawned, tired. She’d have to find some place to sleep. The loud, boisterous laughter wafting up from the hall below banished any thought she might have had of venturing outside the chamber. No. Ruan hadn’t been jesting when he warned that Dunvegan was dangerous, especially at night.

  The tiny chamber yielded few options. The floor was unsuitable; the thin layer of rushes did nothing to dampen the cold. The bed, covered by an unclothed man, was entirely out of the question. The only item remaining was the chest.

  It proved hard, cold, and bumpy. For a time, she perched on it, resting her forehead upon her knees and struggled to keep warm as the night chill deepened.

  Ruan began to snore.

  She shifted uncomfortably. There was no fire and the chamber grew colder by the minute. The man on the bed sighed contentedly in his sleep. She sent him a resentful stare. For a time, she rubbed her fingers together briskly. Her nose was icy to the touch. She shivered, recalling the coldness of the moors.

  Ruan twisted on his side, dragging the covers with him. He appeared extraordinarily comfortable. Bree eyed him enviously. It was simply unfair that the man would lie, stripped bare, impervious to the chill while she huddled, freezing, on a hard chest.

  As her nose began to drip, her convictions wavered.

  Ruan’s sleep was deep.

  She could huddle at the foot of the bed and leave before he woke. He’d never be the wiser. He truly lacked interest in her, anyway. Domnall had said every lass lusted after him. He must have a lover. The thought caught hold and gave her a sense of security. Of course, a man so handsome would have his pick of anyone. Relief filled her. He wouldn’t be interested in her. She didn’t want to acknowledge that thought was disappointing.

  Time marched on. Finally, cursing herself for her weakness, and Ruan’s heart was firmly taken by another, she crept to the foot of the bed.

  Eager for a warm place to rest, she slid under the coverlet and huddled in a tiny ball. She reveled in the warm softness, promising she’d wake first and be gone before dawn.

  ***

  “Such a fine, naked arse, lad!” A woman chuckled.

  Groggily, Bree frowned and wished the voice would go away. She was incredibly warm. She hadn’t been this comfortably warm in ages.

  “Isobel?” A voice grunted in her ear.

  Bree grimaced at the loud rumbling. She didn’t want to wake up. She was warm. She briefly wondered what the leaden weights across her chest and legs were, but it didn’t matter. It was the source of the wonderful warmness. With a smile of pleasure, she burrowed deeper, preparing to drift once again to sleep.

  The weight stirred. Something tickled her cheek. Startled, she lifted her lashes to spy several strands of long, dark hair falling about her.

  Ruan was examining her, with great interest, from mere inches away.

  Her heart stopped.

  “This thing reeks, lad. I’ll have it washed.”

  From the corner of her eyes, Bree saw Isobel suspend Ruan’s shirt at arm’s length.

  “Ach, and Bree, what have ye done to yer dress? It smells like a dung heap!” Isobel clucked, adding Bree’s gown to the pile. “I’ve another for ye in Merry’s room. I’ll fetch it. Ne’er have I seen a lass go through gowns as fast as ye, love!”

  Bree swallowed as Ruan continued to stare.

  “Just lie abed with the wee wife, lad. After these latest doings, few will blame ye,” the woman said, her aged face bright with amusement.

  Frantically, Bree searched her memory. She’d slipped under the covers at the foot of the bed. How had she maneuvered to end up under the man?

  Ruan hadn’t moved. He lay half upon her, still observing in a manner she dare not interpret. Her lips remained paralyzed, but she could not find the words to say anyway. She didn’t know how long they stayed there. Time seemed suspended and then from outside the window the sound of bagpipes split the air.

  Startled, she jumped, her elbow striking something hard.

  Ruan growled, sitting up and rubbing his jaw. “’Tis only the piper with the morning lament.”

  “Aye,” Isobel said, bustling back into the chamber and dropping another gown on the chest. “’Tis how proper folk wake, lass.”

  “I’ll be… needing this,” Ruan growled, pulling the plaid from her and averting his eyes. Swathing himself, he pushed past Isobel just as a loud bang sounded on the door. He flung it open to reveal a grim Ewan.

  “They found Sean,” the blond youth said bleakly.

  “Blessed Mary!” Isobel’s voice caught, her shoulders sagged in grief.

  Ruan sucked his breath and then banged his forehead against the wall several times before sighing, “I’ll tell her.”

  “Your nephew… Andrew’s son… Duncan…” Ewan’s voice trailed.

  Ruan bowed his head.

  “Well, we’ll never know now,” Ewan cleared his throat. “His throat was slit from ear to ear.”

  “Blessed Mary!” Isobel repeated, but this time, her tone seemed only dutiful.

  “Aye, well,” Ruan said, heaving a deep sigh. “I’ll be going to Jenna then.”

  He hesitated on the threshold, half turning her direction, but then he shrugged and pushing past Ewan, disappeared down the passageway.

  Bree expelled a sigh of relief, glad the man was gone. He was unsettling, in all respects. Rubbing her burning cheeks, she met Isobel’s all-knowing gaze.

  “Ach, now, lass,” the woman said softly, cocking her head to the side. “Out of bed with ye now, we’ve work to do. I’m sending ye down to the dairy. Jenna needs a wee bit of help.”

  Chapter 11: Jenna’s Sorrow

  Ruan paused outside the dairy, reeling a little from the tidings of Sean and Duncan’s deaths.

  The last few weeks had been grueling—and disturbing.

  They had become involved far deeper in MacDonald affairs than they should have. Now, the Mackenzie clan was tangled in the mess, keen on defending their newly acquired land from the Crown. The Mackenzies were readying themselves for a much bigger war, having suffered several attacks from Fearghus already, and some of them saw the split of the MacDonald clan as an opportunity to rid themselves of future threats once and for all.

  Ruan, Robert, and a handful of MacLeods had ridden hard to meet with the Mackenzies, to ease the rising tensions, and were rewarded with some measure of success. Even though the King had greatly damaged the power structure of the Isles, including Skye, by seizing the Earldom of Ross, he could not entirely erase the relationships that had been cultivated over centuries.

  It was on the way back that mysterious arrows began to fly in Ruan’s direction.

  The last evening, before they had rejoined Cuilen’s raid against Fearghus, Ruan had narrowly missed a shaft whistling his way and had wheeled his horse toward the thickets to ferret out the culprits.

  He had stumbled upon an unexpected scene. Robert stood over the body of Andrew, his half-brother, wiping his dirk on his plaid. He looked up and saw Ruan approach, but said nothing. He merely kicked a quiver of arrows across the clearing.

  The arrows didn’t stop with Andr
ew’s death, but the numbers lessened.

  Robert warned Ruan to avoid Andrew’s son, Duncan, and then had disappeared on his horse. He was gone several days before he returned to assure Ruan that it was over.

  The arrows had stopped completely then and neither Ruan nor Robert had spoken of it since. Ruan didn’t want to hear if his nephew Duncan was involved. He did not want to believe the lad he’d laughingly dandled on his knee as a bairn was attempting to kill him.

  Sadness weighed on his heart.

  He’d never understand why his brothers had convinced their offspring that he was intent on their deaths, desiring to kill any who stood in his way of taking Dunvegan. It was entirely untrue.

  He shrugged the thoughts away to focus on Jenna. Now, he must tell her that her lover, Sean, was dead.

  Jenna had always been his favorite half-sister. Though some within Dunvegan named her the harlot, shunning her for bearing a child to a wedded man, he hadn’t been one to find fault. How could he? She was his sister and the child was innocent. He sighed. Aye, Sean and Jenna had been doomed from the start, but there was naught to do about it now.

  She must have seen him approaching. With a wail, she threw herself in his arms.

  “He is dead, then!” she gasped, burying her nose in his shoulder.

  “Aye, lass,” Ruan sighed, folding her close.

  She simply cried for a time before beginning to jabber about the bairn.

  “I’ll see to ye both, Jenna,” Ruan said, wiping her tears with his sleeve and patting her belly. “There’s no cause for fear.”

  A slight sound caused him to turn. Bree stood a short distance away on the path, hair hanging in damp curls down her back. The poor lass appeared wan and tired with the day just starting. Behind her, he could see Merry joining with a slow limp.

  He clenched his jaw.

  The women under his care were suffering. They watched him, nervously, as he guided Jenna from the dairy and down to the loch.

  Morning fled into afternoon as he offered comfort and simply listened to his sister. They spent the time walking through the village and surrounding fields. She found it difficult to stay still.

  He’d vowed to see to Jenna and the child’s welfare from the moment she’d tearfully confessed her condition. He’d make good that promise, though he was sore pressed on how it might be done. He had nothing left. Robert would help, but he had never accepted anything from the man other than his love.

  It was late when he finally saddled his horse and rode with Jenna to her tiny croft some distance away. He saw her fed and settled into a deep sleep before slowly making his way back to Dunvegan. He pondered the future. With Sean not there to help, Jenna could not manage the small croft alone. He’d barely stepped foot in the courtyard when Effric pounced upon him.

  “Ruan,” she smiled, plucking his arm. “I’ve missed ye.” Her lashes lowered.

  Ruan studied her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. He’d pitied Effric when she first arrived. That hadn’t lasted long. The new Lady of Dunvegan had soon proven manipulative and despicable in her own right. She’d pursued him from their first meeting, steadfastly refusing to believe his lack of interest was genuine. Then, she became mad and he, along with the entire clan, had largely forgotten her. Yet, there was still something to pity, he reminded himself. Being wed to Tormod was too harsh a punishment for any crime.

  “Ye could be laird soon!” Effric whispered, blocking his way. “Did ye hear? There is only Michael and Gerland in the way now. Andrew and his son are gone now—”

  “Aye,” Ruan interrupted with a frown. “Their deaths have naught to do with me!”

  “But there are only three others in yer way now, and—” she said, placing her hands on his chest.

  “How can ye speak so?” Ruan thundered, pushing her away.

  Effric’s lips thinned into a white line, “Eager to see yer new whore, are ye?”

  Bree. In the past few hours, he hadn’t spared the lass a single thought. Jenna’s anguish had been his main concern. While fighting the MacDonalds, he’d only remembered his deathly ill, newly made wife, on occasion. By far, staying alive had been his most pressing concern.

  No, the only thought that had crossed his mind about her had been a certainty that his return would find her dead.

  He hadn’t been in the least prepared to meet the startling green eyes, sooty lashes, and thick brown hair. Aye, she was a lass who could stir his blood should he permit it. He winced. Where was his control, his promise to himself that he’d walk away from all females before he turned into another version of his father?

  He looked at his hands, fearing the violence that lay in them.

  “Ruan?”

  Effric’s shrill voice brought him to the present. She was frowning, tugging at his sleeve, struggling between what seemed like anger and the desire to seduce him. “Come with me.” She whispered.

  Her prying fingers slithered down to slide under his plaid. He extricated her hand and released an exasperated breath. In the past, she’d pursued him with vigor like no other. He’d thought the matter done. Grasping her shoulders, he swung her about and threatened, “I’ve no interest in ye. I never will. I swear, lass, I never have!”

  “But, ye can, if ye try!” she whispered, rubbing provocatively against his chest.

  The lass truly was daft, there was no other explanation. “But I dinna want ye,” he growled, shoving her back roughly.

  “Is it Bree?” Effric snarled, her nostrils flaring.

  Recalling Bree’s hysteria the night before, he drew himself to his full height and said sternly, “Be ye mad or no, Effric, ye’ll nae be harming Bree. If ye do, I’ll lock ye in a tower myself. That, or send ye back to your father. Aye, and after last night, I’ll be having ye watched day and night to prevent further mischief!”

  Effric choked, turning chalk white. She glared at him briefly before scurrying away.

  He wondered if she could be dangerous, or if he’d been too harsh. He’d have Ewan keep an eye on her in order to keep Bree safe. He smiled, recalling the fierce expression on Bree’s face as she’d wielded the trencher to protect Merry. It had been a foolhardy act, but a brave one. Aye, he’d known from the beginning the lass had heart. Her demeanor was quiet, but she was far from weak.

  Catching his smile, Ruan frowned. What was he doing? Lollygagging over a lass? No. He was done with women. They had caused him naught but trouble, and he’d do best to remember it.

  “Ruan, love,” Isobel’s cheery voice called out from behind. “Robert bids ye come.”

  He fell into step at her side, gallantly hefting her basket onto his shoulder.

  “Robert’s told me a bit of the doings,” she said in a low voice. "That yer brothers are trying to slay ye.”

  Ruan caught his breath. The words were stark, cold, and he didn’t want to hear them. “I don’t know that for certain.” His protest sounded weak even to his own ears. He heaved a sigh. “Aye, well, Tormod has reason now. He’s of a mind I rescued Merry to split the clan.”

  “Then, he’s a fool,” Isobel snorted. “Ye split the clan long afore that and he’s a fool nae to know it.”

  Ruan stared in surprise.

  “Can ye nae see it, lad?” she said with a smile. She raised her withered hand to caress his cheek. “Aye, there’s nae a heart that does nae want ye as The MacLeod.”

  “Be done!” Ruan took a deep breath. “I’ll have no more talk of this, ‘tis far too dangerous!”

  Isobel shrugged, unperturbed.

  He found her reaction disconcerting. Deliberately switching the subject, he said, “Merry seems happier. At times, I can almost see her as she was, before…”

  “Aye,” Isobel smiled. “She’s pinned to Bree like a needle in a cloth. Now, she’s a lass and no mistake.”

  “Merry can do no wrong in your eyes,” Ruan said fondly. “I should be jealous she has taken my place in your heart.”

  “Oh, I love our wee one, too,” Isobel chuckled.
“But lad, I was speaking of Bree. The wonders she has done with our Merry, in her own, quiet way.”

  Ruan blinked in surprise. Apparently, Isobel had fallen under Bree’s spell as well. Suddenly, he recalled her curves and soft skin under his. To his horror, his cheeks tinged a slight pink. He shifted uneasily. He was much too old to blush over a woman.

  Isobel reached over and tweaked his ear, “Robert’s waiting for ye, love.”

  With that, she snagged her basket and lumbered off, leaving him standing there. He was perturbed on many accounts.

  Slowly, and with a great sense of forbidding, he entered the room.

  The exchange with Robert was alarming. Several respected elders of the clan stood by his uncle’s side, all of them urging Ruan to rise against his remaining brothers, to slay them first before they succeeded in killing him. He didn’t want to hear them. He still didn’t want to believe his kin wanted his blood and he didn’t want to see Robert agreeing in his own quiet way with a simple nod. That Robert wished him to wage bloodshed on his own kin was simply too much to think of now.

  With a pounding head, he quitted the chamber, making his way to the great hall.

  Tormod was already there, sprawling at the high table. His attention was riveted to the back of the room. Following his gaze, Ruan spied the object of his fascination, and his blood began to boil.

  Bree sat quietly at a table at the far end, keeping her own company, and speaking to no one.

  Hackles rising, Ruan strode to the high table, planting himself to block the man’s vision.

  Tormod had the grace to appear guilty, though he tried his best to cover it.

  Neither spoke.

  Tormod simply slouched, fumbling for his cup.

  Ruan turned away. He’d have to have Ewan keep an eye on Tormod as well, though surely, even his brother wouldn’t be so rash as to act on his lust for Bree.

  Bree didn’t notice his approach; she sat by herself, toying with her food.

  He’d experienced a wide range of emotions upon waking to find her asleep in his bed. She’d been curled in the tightest and most uncomfortable ball he’d ever seen. Again, his lips quivered upwards as he recalled her horror. She’d been utterly dismayed to be in his bed where so many other women had smiled in triumph. He blinked, catching his line of thought.