by Lily Baldwin
“What were ye thinking?” she demanded.
He ignored her question and removed her charm from the silver chain, which he stashed in his saddlebag for safe-keeping.
Then he reached behind his own neck and untied the strip of leather he wore, from which hung a small, silver cross. He added her charm to the strip before turning to face her. “May I?” he said gently. Her eyes flashed at him; clearly an admonishment sat just on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained and turned her back to him.
Warmth flooded up her spine as once more she felt his fingertips brush her skin. His hot breath fell on her neck while he tied the string with her beloved trinity knot now nestled beside his silver cross. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him, the heat of his body pressed so closely to hers. “Ye’re a reckless knave,” she whispered, a languid feeling claiming her limbs as she leaned into him. “Ye just risked yer life for my necklace.”
“Nay,” he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing her skin. “I just risked my life for ye.”
“Ye’re mad is what ye are.” She cleared her throat, trying once again to focus on anything other than her pounding heart. Stepping away, she turned and faced him. “I am grateful. It was a gift from my mother and is sacred to me. Still, it is not worth yer life.
He shrugged. “I’ve climbed many cliffs.”
“But, ye could’ve died.”
“I do not fear death,” he said simply.
“If ye do not fear death, then what do ye fear?”
“My own cowardice.”
She grabbed the reins of her horse and started to walk along the cliff edge, puzzling over his words.
When he joined her, she said, “Ye mean to say ye’re afraid of being afraid?”
He nodded.
“That’s all?”
Again, he nodded.
Alex shook her head. “I’m not certain I understand.”
She saw a slight smile curve his lips just before he shifted his gaze and looked forward. When he spoke next, his voice was unhurried and intimate like an old friend’s. “When I was seven years old, I started working the docks with my da. As ships came into port us wee lads would unload the smaller cargo. One time, this lad, Henry, and I grabbed a crate too large for our scrawny arms and dropped it, shattering whatever was inside. A man as big as a giant with cruel eyes grabbed Henry by the back of his tunic and tossed him off the ship, but he couldn’t swim. His screams reached my ears. I wanted to jump in after him, but the man grabbed my face hard between his hands and bent at the waist, sneering at me. A red, puckered scar ran down his cheek. It turned white when he laughed in my face. After what seemed like an eternity, he let me go. I was free, but I stood frozen. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded as I looked into his bloodshot eyes. ‘Aren’t ye going to save yer friend?’ he said and pulled back his fist to hit me. My senses returned just in time to dodge the blow. I darted through his legs, then overboard after Henry. I reached him, but I wasn’t strong enough pull him to the docks. I could barely keep his head afloat and nearly drowned myself for trying. Then suddenly, my da was there and another man, and they pulled Henry and me to safety.”
“Did Henry survive?” she asked.
“Aye, though he never went near water again.”
She stopped, turning to face him. “Ye saved him though, keeping his head afloat while ye waited for help.”
He looked down into her eyes. “After the man released me, for moments, breaths, I just stood there—tethered to nothing but my own fear. I vowed that day never to allow fear to be my guide again. If I am afraid, that is when I act the fastest. When fear strikes me, I hear that man’s laughter in my head. I smell his breath.” Rory shrugged. “Some have called me reckless; I say I’m breaking free.”
She smiled then. “I believe I called ye a reckless knave.”
“Reckless to be sure, but a knave?” He slowly shook his head, drawing closer. “I think ye’ll discover that I’m gentle,” he said, his soft voice like a whispered caress. “A good man.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb outlining her bottom lip. She closed her eyes against the sweet ache of his touch. Clenching her fists, she dug her fingernails into her palms as she fought to regain control over her racing heart.
“Anyway,” she said briskly while she moved out of reach, “yer fear saved yer life. For had ye leapt into the water sooner, yer da may not have gotten to ye in time, and both of ye would have died. Then where would that leave me?”
Smiling, he reached for her hand and pulled her back, wrapping his arm around her waist. Lightning bolts of desire shot through her. His lips were so close to hers. “Ye tell me,” he rasped. “Where would ye be without me?”
She wanted to kiss him. With her every thought, every breath, with every beat of her heart, she wanted to kiss him.
But she couldn’t.
She had to remember that her people came first.
“I…I wouldn’t have my necklace,” she stammered as she gently pushed against his chest and stepped free from his arms.
Grasping her horse’s reins, she started forward. The land had begun to change, the cliffs slowly subsiding into green earth once more. Trudging carefully down the steep slope, she stopped near the water where a narrow pass hugged the coastline. It felt cooler by the sea. She inhaled the crisp air, inviting its calming effect. With her mind clear, she could focus once again on the mission ahead. Reaching into one of her saddlebags, she grabbed a fistful of oats and offered the snack to Rory’s mare.
“Tether her to one of those rocks,” she said, pointing to a series of protruding stones. “And ride with me. She’ll only be in the way.”
Rory looked unconcerned. “She’s a brave horse and takes direction. Do not worry about her.”
“Trust me,” Alex said, lifting her tunic high and pulling herself into the saddle. Then she slid forward to allow Rory room to swing up behind her.
Rory frowned for a moment, confused about why he would have to leave his mare, but then he drank in the sight of Alex pressed against the front of her saddle, her tangled, flaxen hair, cascading down her back.
“Right,” he said, sliding to the ground. “Sorry, lass,” he whispered to his horse, stroking her thick mane. “Ye have to sit this one out. Ye must ken there are offers too sweet to refuse.”
He turned to look up at Alex. As usual, she met his gaze dead on, never resorting to the coy affectations so often used by the fairer sex. Already his pulse began to race, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. He reached up and grabbed the horn of the saddle, his fingers close to the apex of her thighs. She sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes narrowed on him with an intensity that fueled his desire. He swung up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
“Hold on tightly,” she breathed.
He nosed her hair to the side, bringing his forehead down on her shoulder. “Happily,” he said softly, savoring the feel of her strong, sleek body, hot against his.
“’Tis not far,” she said, her voice strained. He knew the fierce attraction that pulsed from their bodies, penetrating the other, intruded upon her every thought as it did his.
They trotted along the rocky pass, waves lapping against the ridged wall that tamed the frigid water on one side. On the other, craggy, teeming cliffs renewed their stake on the land. His fingers splayed wide against her stomach. He could have held her for all eternity. Up ahead the coastline curved, revealing the dark mouth of a cave, and he knew that all too soon he would have to relinquish his prize.
“Welcome to my secret armory,” she said, reining in her horse at the foot of the cave.
Rory slid to the ground and reached up to clasp her waist. She pressed her hands against his chest while he slowly lowered her to the ground.
“Trust me,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sideways smile. “Ye’re about to see something ye’ll want even more than a good ride.”
He cocked his brow at her. “I will be the judge
of that.”
She turned and reached into one of her large saddlebags and withdrew a thick rope, a torch, and a chard of flint. “Follow me,” she said. “And bring my horse.”
The cave floor was smooth, the stone worn by rushing waves, but as they moved deeper into the stone hollow, jagged rocks emerged, untouched by salt or spray. Firelight from the torch Alex had lit danced on the ceiling, casting flickering shadows on the craggy walls. They continued forward, the tunnel worming to the right, and then the passage widened. Off to the side, Rory spied a long, narrow wagon, and beyond that the path abruptly ended.
“But where are the weapons?” he asked, turning around to scan the tunnel. He crossed to the wagon for a closer look, but it, too, was empty.
“Come closer,” Alex said, sliding the torch into a waiting sconce. He crossed to her side, his eyes following her downward gaze into a black pit, which preceded the tunnel’s end. Eyes wide, he looked at her, a slew of questions on his tongue. But then he noticed her hands busily tying one end of the rope around her waist.
“What are ye about?” Rory said, not liking the direction things were going.
“I’m going down there,” she said simply.
“Absolutely not,” he blurted, grasping her arm.
She jerked free from his hold. “Do ye honestly think I will heed yer refusal? I do what I wish, Rory MacVie. That is something ye should not soon forget.” She gave him the other end of the rope to hold. “Anyway, I lack the strength for what is to come. I need yer brawn up here.”
Before he could protest further, she knelt at the edge of the drop. “Ready yer stance,” she said.
He gripped the rope and anchored his foot behind him, preparing to bear her weight to the bottom of the pit. He slowly lowered her down, her feet and legs first disappearing into shadow. He stared hard into her eyes, while darkness overtook her waist and then her shoulders. The instant before the black pit swallowed her unflinching eyes, he froze, battling with himself to keep from pulling her back to the surface.
“Alba gu bràth,” she said softly.
He nodded, took a deep breath, and lowered her the rest of the way. A moment later, the tension eased from the rope.
“I can feel yer worry from down here,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Be at ease, Rory. This is hardly the most dangerous thing I’ve done for the cause.”
That he did not doubt.
The sound of clanging metal reached his ears the instant before she called up, “’Tis time to put yer strength to good use. Pull up the first crate.”
He yanked on the rope. Whatever was attached to the other end weighed significantly more than she. He spread his legs and braced himself. Then he heaved back, crossing one hand over the other and hauled her treasure to the surface. A large crate appeared, wrapped in hide, the sides of which were joined together by a thick metal ring tied to the rope.
“Go ahead and look at what’s inside,” she called up.
Rory untied the rope and sent it back down to her. Then he pulled back the hide flaps. Even in the dim torchlight, metal blades gleamed. A new hunger grew inside of him when he inspected one of the swords. “Alba gu bràth,” he whispered solemnly. Then he called down to Alex, “Wait until Abbot Matthew sees these.”
There were seven crates in all. Rory could not believe his eyes as he loaded each one into the wagon. “There must be nearly two-hundred swords here.”
“Two-hundred and seven to be exact,” she called up.
His gaze returned, taking in the sight of Scotland’s swords.
“Ahem…I require yer assistance?”
He crossed back to the pit and lowered the rope. An instant later, he started to pull her up to the surface. The moment their eyes locked, he said, “Ye ken the last time ye said those words to me I undressed ye.”
She reached out for him when she was close enough. He took hold of her, lifting her the rest of the way.
“Before I left my chambers today, I promised Rosie my clothes would stay on.”
He shook his head to show his disapproval. “That’s very disappointing.” Then he gestured to the wagon. “That being said, I wouldn’t advise sewing one of those into yer tunic.”
Her eyes flashed with the same excitement that was coursing through his veins. “They are magnificent, are they not?” She crossed to her horse’s side and freed a large, thin oilcloth from one of her bags and spread it out over the weapons.
“Ye’re magnificent,” he said softly, coming up behind her.
She turned and faced him, placing her hands on his strong chest. Firelight set his black hair aflame while shadow obscured his features, making his deep-set eyes even more intense, more sinful. She seized his tunic. “How do ye do this to me?” she rasped, closing her eyes against the sight of his full lips. She cleared her throat and stepped free.
“Thank ye for coming to me,” she said, her voice shaky with need as she began to hitch her horse to the wagon. “For three years, Scotland’s weapons have waited at the bottom of that pit, protected by wood and hide. I never could have retrieved them on my own.”
Rory stood, forcing his feet to remain planted where they were when all he wanted to do was pull her back into his arms and never let go again. Damn her title. Damn her duty to her people. His fists clenched against the hunger that held his senses captive. Never had he wanted a woman more, and yet he knew she could never be his.
He drew a deep breath before joining her near the shaft of the wagon. Wordlessly, they fitted the rein terret and adjusted the straps around her stallion, their movements hasty and rough. The beast snorted in protest.
“Whoa,” Alex said, stroking a soothing hand down his mane.
Rory watched her, thinking he was no better than a wound-up horse. By the Saints, he needed to regain control. Drawing another, deeper breath, he offered her his hand and helped her up into the wagon. Then he took hold of the reins and led them from the cave.
When they emerged, the sun had begun its descent, dipping close to the horizon. The fresh air served to clear his mind, and he resolved to lighten the air.
“Now where to?” he said with forced brightness.
“To Leslie MacKenzie’s,” she said, meeting his gaze for the first time since their most recent near kiss. “Follow back the way we came, then head east.”
After they tethered Rory’s mare to the back of the wagon, they cleared the slope and started out across the moors, the myriad colors of sunset behind them. Rory asked, “And when do we make the run south to the abbot?”
She drew a thoughtful breath. “I must think of an excuse for my absence. It will be at least another week if not a fortnight before I am ready. Turn down there,” she said, pointing to a croft in the distance.
“We could just keep going,” he said, drawing her gaze. “Ye and I, right now. Let’s not stop.” His smile challenged her to accept, for he knew the sooner the mission was over the sooner they could part ways. And although he hated to leave her, he knew with every moment that passed his feelings for her grew.
She seemed to consider his plan. “Mary and Rosie would make up some excuse for me. They would likely claim that I’ve locked myself away in my chamber for some reason or another.” But then she shook her head. “Tomorrow is Lammas. I couldn’t possibly leave.”
“Of course,” he said. “I had forgotten. Am I to guess there is to be a celebration?”
“To be sure,” she answered.
“With music?”
“To be sure.”
“And dancing?”
“To be sure.”
“Will ye dance with me?” By all that’s holy, he couldn’t resist. Mayhap he was a knave?
She hesitated.
He nudged her gently with his elbow. “Ye’re supposed to answer ‘to be sure’.”
She laughed just as the wagon bumped, knocking her against him, causing her to laugh all the harder. “We’ll see,” she said, catching her breath. Then she pointed to a wood and thatch outbuild
ing some distance away from a cottage. “Bring the wagon right into that storehouse.”
“What sort of man is Leslie MacKenzie?” Rory asked. Hopping down, he unhitched and untethered the horses.
“Trust me,” she said. “He won’t mind if we leave our wagon here.”
Brows drawn, Rory cautioned her. “What if he runs off with the wagon? It holds a small fortune. ‘Tis enough to tempt any man.”
A slight smile curved Alex’s lips before she took his hand and pulled him outside toward the cottage just as an old man with a stooped back came limping outside.
“Stay silent. Don’t let him know ye’re here,” Alex whispered to Rory before she jogged over to meet the man. “Good eventide, Leslie.”
The old man turned up his weathered face, revealing large, milky white eyes. “Is that ye, my lady?”
Alex wrapped her arms around the man’s frail shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. “Aye, ‘tis me.”
“Bless me, but it’s been an age.”
“I was away for a month,” she explained. “And then my da died.”
“I wasn’t accusing ye, lass, just counting my blessings,” Leslie said, his unseeing eyes pointing heavenward. “Will ye come in for a spell? I’ve some hot pottage.”
“Forgive me, but I cannot,” she said. “I am needed at Luthmore, but I brought ye something.” She reached out and pressed a small, fist-sized bundle into his palm.
“Ah,” Leslie said, smiling. “Ye brought me some honeycomb.”
“Indeed, I did,” she said, surprised that he had guessed correctly.
He brought the parcel to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Ye’ve paid me a short but sweet visit to be sure.”
Alex pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek then turned him about. “Go back inside. Darkness is upon us.”
“Day or night, makes no difference to me,” the man said, chuckling. “Come back and visit me soon, won’t ye? And then ye can introduce me to the man ye’re trying to hide.”