Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  “Go ahead.” She nodded at the tray. “Pay no mind to me.”

  Pay no mind? How the devil was he supposed to do that? He practically minded every damned thing about the woman. How could he not? Before he mustered the courage to tell her to take her leave, she stepped around him and strolled across the solar to the wooden benches he’d spent the better part of the day working on.

  Alas, his hollow stomach won the battle of wills. ’Twas foolish, but he chose to bite his tongue and allow Mairi to remain. He placed the tray atop his desk near the hearth and slid into his chair. He uncovered the tray of roasted meats, vegetables and a steaming bowl of pottage, and nodded in appreciation.

  Niall spared no time informing him of Mairi’s plans to speak to Glinda that morn. While her interfering should’ve angered him, in truth, ’twas long overdue. The state of the fare in the hall had sorely lacked for longer than Aaron could remember.

  Downing a hearty spoonful of the savory fish pottage, he sighed in contentment. ’Twas a far cry from Glinda’s usual meals.

  “Did you make these?”

  Thoroughly dining with relish, he barely caught her curious question. Between mouthfuls, he tossed her a glimpse. “What?”

  “These?” She indicated the four benches he’d finished that afternoon. “Did you make them?”

  Bashful of the unremarkable work, he shrugged and mumbled around another bite, “Aye.”

  “Do you care if I try one?”

  Wary, he lifted his head from his trencher to peer at her. ’Twas truth, he did care. Though, he reserved his comment. “Do whatever you please.”

  Pursing her lips, she lifted her chin. “It pleases me to sit, so I shall.”

  Mairi eased down on one of the benches and ran her fingertips over the freshly-shaven timber. The sight of her caressing the item he’d fashioned with his own two hands slid an unsolicited shiver down his back.

  “’Tis well-made and sturdy. I cannot believe you made it.”

  Sipping his ale, he scoffed. “Why? Because I’m wretched at everything else.”

  As soon as the words slipped out, he nearly cursed himself. Saints, either his blasted gob ran away from him at the most inopportune moments, or he could not find the words to turn a pretty phrase to save his soul.

  Of course, she seized upon the slip. Tilting her head to the side, she studied him with a slight grin that turned his stomach inside out. Torchlight in the chamber gleamed on her shining, raven locks and added an alluring glow to her comely countenance. By all that was holy, why did she never cease to leave him breathless?

  “If I’m not mistaken, I’ve never accused of you being wretched at anything,” she declared. “If anything, I find you rather resourceful.”

  Frustrated with the undeserved praise, he ground out, “Well, I’m not. Would do you well to remember that.”

  “As you say.” With a playful roll of her eyes, she motioned to the tray. “What do you think of the fare?”

  “’Tis much improved.” He was not a complete arse. He could at least acknowledge the prudence of her actions. “’Twas good of you to speak to Glinda for the clan.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve not done so before now,” she commented with a lift of a brow.

  There were many things he should’ve done long before but had ignored. The fare was merely an insignificant matter in the grand scheme of things. Unwilling to explain himself, he picked up a wee cake and bit into the sweet treat for the mere sake of not having to stumble with an excuse. The fact he’d not run her from the chamber yet was astounding and asinine.

  They soon fell into an easy silence to his ever-loving mercy. Far too inquisitive for her own good, Ash jumped onto the bench beside Mairi and meowed for attention. Mairi patted her thighs and his traitorous cat curled up in the woman’s lap.

  “Where did you find her?” Mairi stroked the wee, gray beast.

  Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the pair. “I suppose you could say she found me. One summer day she followed me from the beach and I’ve not been able to rid myself of her since.” He nodded at Mairi’s lap. “Mayhap, she has found a new master.”

  The lass released a melodious laugh, a low, appealing sound that chimed in his ears. “I highly doubt that.” She smirked at him. “If you could’ve seen how quickly you protected her when you thought her in danger. Nay, she shall forever be yours.”

  The statement resounded within him, striking a cord that had naught to do with the cat. The ball of tension stretched tight in his gut pulled even tauter.

  “What’s her name?” Those blue eyes lanced straight into him and he shifted uncomfortably beneath her stare.

  Glancing away, he motioned toward the hearth at his back. “Ash. Her fur resembled the hue of ash and soot.”

  “Does your clan know of the things you do for them?” she asked with that damned tilt of her pretty head.

  How should he know? He barely spoke to a handful of the clan. Life was simpler that way. His absence spared him the looks of disparagement and the air of defeated resignation his clan wore like a glove. Christ, it pained him to witness their misery, but who was he to say a word? He’d indirectly caused a great deal of the clan’s suffering with his inability to act. A handful of fair to middling benches and sundry repairs throughout the holding scarcely came close to mending the jagged rift.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Aye, it does.” Concern pinched her brow and she bit her lip. “I spoke with Connor.”

  Of course, she had. Why should he expect anything different from his brother? For the lad to have been such a quiet, reserved child, he’d grown into a chattering young man who knew not when to shut his mouth. He straightened in his seat, rolling his rigid shoulders.

  “My brother talks too freely.”

  She snorted. “He’s young and he simply worries for you.”

  Aye, he knew that better than anyone. If anyone wished him to find redemption, ’twas Connor. The lad always stood fast at his side, refusing to give up on him. At times, ’twas endearing, then vexing at others. Nevertheless, he loved his annoying, younger brother.

  Nibbling her bottom lip, she hesitated to speak. “Glinda spouted some things in the kitchens this morning that upset him.”

  He ground his teeth. “What things?”

  Mairi narrowed her gaze. “You must vow not to get angry.”

  “How am I to know if I’ll get angry?” he groused.

  She held her silence, hurling a pointed glare at him.

  “Fine. I agree,” he muttered. “What did Glinda have to say?”

  As if he could not guess himself.

  With a parting cuddle and stroke, she placed Ash on the ground. Stretching out her limbs, the cat padded to her makeshift bed before the warm fire. Mairi rose to her feet and began a slow pace back and forth in front of him, which spiked his unease.

  Hell, was it so foul she could not bear to look him in the eye?

  “Glinda was rather disheartened with the state of affairs around the keep.” As she turned, the hem of her skirts swished around her booted feet. “She expressed her concern for the clan, and her words affected Connor. When he was absent from the evening meal, I sought him out in the stables.” With her arms crossed tightly over her chest, she whirled to face him. “He asked me if I thought you a terrible person.”

  Grinding his teeth, he ignored the acceleration of his breathing. He told himself not to ask, but damned if his mouth obeyed. “Do you?”

  “Nay,” she spoke with clear precision. “I have a question for you.”

  In spite of his apprehension, he agreed with a terse nod.

  “When my brother discovered us in your chamber, he held a sword to your throat, but you made no move to dissuade him.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “Did you intend to meet death that day?”

  Whether ’twas the manner of question or the profundity of her awareness, the effect jolted him to attention. His heart beat in a drumming thud while a hollowness expanded in the pit
of his churning stomach. Locked in the fathomless depths of her piercing gaze, the truth sprang from his lips.

  “Aye.”

  Truth be told, he’d anticipated his death at MacGregor’s hands. When he’d attended the man’s wedding with the express intent of stealing his bride at Longford’s command, Aaron had embraced his fate with open arms. If his death would save his younger brother and atone for his own crimes, then ’twas a price he’d gladly pay a thousand times over. Mayhap, ’twas a selfish, ridiculous notion, but he’d imagined his death might bring him some measure of salvation. Alas, her brother spared his life that day, and he’d suffered from the guilt of his actions since.

  An unsettling tension strained the short distance between them. His discomfort growing, he shifted awkwardly in his seat. Why, in God’s name, had he not remembered to bar the solar door earlier?

  Bowing her head, she wrung her hands together. “Did you ever care anything for me?”

  The doubt in her quiet question slung around his chest and pressed as tight as a vise. How could she offer him anything other than scorn after he’d been naught but insufferable and unkind since her arrival?

  Lie, he told himself.

  Drag a strung-together falsehood from his accursed lips. That was all he had to do. One simple, baseless lie was all it would take to put an end to the entire affair for good. But, as he studied her bent, dark head, he could not bring himself to hurt her. Intentional or not, causing her pain utterly gutted him.

  “I did.” He swallowed down the choking lump lodged in his throat. “I do.”

  Her head snapped up, their gazes meeting. Unshed tears glimmered in her beautiful eyes.

  “But, before…you said…” She searched his gaze, seeking the truth from him.

  From the first moment they’d met, she’d given him naught but candor. The least he could do was afford her the same respect.

  “I know what I said, but I did not mean the words I spoke in haste.”

  “Then why did you speak them?” she pressed.

  The air grew stifling in the chamber, but Aaron could not disengage their locked gazes if he tried. “’Twas far simpler than to admit my true feelings.”

  “What are your true feelings for me, Aaron MacRae?”

  Despite the challenging lift of her chin, the accelerated rise and fall of her chest spoke of her nervousness. For a moment, he questioned why he’d allowed the conversation to continue the course. Pushing out a shaky sigh, he leaned back in his seat, and dove head first from an invisible precipice into unsteady territory. Territory he strove hard to push aside and disregard altogether. He opened his mouth and the words tumbled free.

  “I…care…deeply for you. My feelings for you have never faltered, Mairi. Since the day we met, that’s never changed. That much I can assure you, but there are circumstances beyond both of our control.” Uneasy exposing that part of himself, he snorted. “Why must I be the one to bare my soul? What of your feelings for me?”

  For a change, he managed to render her speechless for several moments. That is, until she squared her shoulders and her unyielding stare speared him where he sat.

  “I, too, care deeply for you. I’d thought that I might’ve heard word from you in the last year, but…I’d hoped if your feelings were the same—”

  “Mairi, stop.” Shaking his head, he glanced away from her. The direction of their conversation had taken a dangerous turn, one he would not permit to continue. “There are many things you do not know about me. Things you could never understand.”

  “Mayhap, I would if you spoke to me. Tell me what troubles you. Connor has spoken a little.” She paced a few steps closer. “He says you do not feel worthy of your clan…or me. Why, Aaron?”

  Damn it. The lad simply could not keep his gob shut and leave well enough alone. He should’ve expected Connor to enlist Mairi’s aid in his pointless pursuits. In the last year, his brother had done his damnedest to goad him into the position of laird. The slight ache in Aaron’s temples swelled into blow after blow pounding.

  “I fear this is not a discussion I wish to have this eve. Now, if you do not mind…” Hoisting himself from his chair, he motioned to the door.

  If he thought to deter her, then he was mistaken.

  “Aye, I mind.” A scowl darkened her comely features, and her hands tightened into little fists at her sides. She stomped forward until she stood directly in his path. Her indignation rose, sparking in her heated gaze. “If not now, then when?”

  It took everything in him not to haul the lass against his chest. Rather than grab her, he seized hold of anger. Baring his teeth, he ground out, “’Tis hardly any of your concern.”

  The words merely riled the fiery woman. She jabbed a finger beneath his nose, and he jerked his head away to prevent a direct hit.

  “Between you, your brother, and your blasted clan, you’ve all made it my concern.”

  The soundness of her admonishment swept the legs from beneath his ire. Saints, why did the woman have to be right? She had been dragged into a tangled mess not of her own choosing.

  Grudgingly, he admitted with a low mutter, “Mayhap, you’ve made your point.”

  Raising her brows, she leaned an ear toward him. “I beg your pardon, but what did you say?”

  “I said you’re right, damn it,” he growled out.

  “Good of you to notice,” she snapped with a tart reply.

  Satisfied with his admission, she lifted her chin and spun on her heel, near to prancing to the hearth. Cooing her farewell, she stroked Ash’s furry head. Afterward, she flounced to the entrance, pausing long enough toss him a vexed glance over her shoulder.

  “I shall await the moment you’re ready to speak to me.”

  Then, the whirlwind of a woman promptly left him to frown after her. Saints, what had he inadvertently agreed to now?

  *

  ONCE AARON WAS certain most of the clan had sought their beds for the eve, he crept down the dim corridor toward his bedchamber. As he drew closer, he muttered a litany of curses. Christ, was he losing what was left of his damned mind?

  Hours after Mairi stormed from his solar, he’d merely sat in silence while her words swirled in his head. Hell, every aspect of the woman—her words, her comely, angered features, every slight movement she made—drifted in and out of his mind, over and over again. A constant, tortuous loop that nearly drove him to madness. The only way to quiet his thoughts was to feed the urge compelling him to seek her out.

  So, there he stood in a darkened hallway outside his own damned chamber, like the blasted lecher that he probably was.

  After a quick glance down the corridor to ensure no one lurked nearby, he tested the latch, surprised to find the door unbarred. Slipping inside, he shut the door with a soft click and pressed his forehead against the grains of wood.

  Saints guard his soul. What the devil was he doing?

  Damn the woman.

  His resolve to remain unaffected and distance himself all but crumbled once she shrieked her way into his solar bearing gifts of fare. Any time she offered him the slighted smile or a peek of the fiery passion residing within her, his good sense and grip on restraint fled altogether. Try as he might, Aaron struggled to dismiss his pull to the lass, but to no avail. Mairi MacGregor had burrowed her way deep beneath his skin.

  With a shaky breath, he turned toward the bed, his gaze soaking in the sight of her slumbering form at once. Wary, he moved closer until his thighs bumped the edge. He eased down to sit, while she slept on unaware of his presence.

  The faint glow of firelight from the hearth illuminated her smooth skin. He itched to run his hand over her soft cheek. Long, raven tresses flowed over his pillow in a sweeping, silken cascade.

  With a soft snort, he shook his head. What a riddle the woman was. Never had he encountered another woman with such utterly feminine charm and appeal, yet encompassed a boldness of character and honor that would rival any seasoned warrior. Though, he considered her a warrior in her
own right—eager to remedy the wrongs around her.

  Was it any wonder he could not stay away from her?

  At times, ’twas hard to imagine that she was real at all. As if he’d somehow conjured her in his mind. Mayhap, if he reached out to touch her, she might vanish entirely. He raised a hand, intent to test the notion.

  “What are you doing?”

  The muffled, male voice startled the hell out of Aaron. Jerking his hand back, he bolted from the bed and spun to the origin of the sound. Bundled in furs on a pallet laid out before the fire, Connor squinted at him through the dimness.

  For a suspended moment, Aaron gawked at the sight of brother. Several heartbeats passed before he managed to shake off his disbelief. Stalking toward the hearth, he leaned closer to the fool.

  “What the devil are you doing?”

  Connor rubbed his bleary eyes. “I asked you the same.”

  “Why, you—”

  A shift of movement from the bed choked the words in his throat. Grabbing hold of the furs swathed around Connor, he whispered in a furious rush. “Get out of here this instant. ’Tis unseemly for you to be here.”

  His brother’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I could say the same for you.”

  “Oh, Sweet Mother, Connor. Go to sleep or get out.” Mairi’s sleepy voice rose from the pile of coverlets on the bed as she rolled on her side.

  Unsure if they’d woken her or she lingered in sleep, Aaron grabbed his brother’s arm and hauled the young man to his feet. What in God’s name was the daft lad thinking, bedding down in Mairi’s chamber?

  “Wait.”

  “Nay. Go, now.” He shoved at Connor, hustling him from the chamber with a swiftness that should’ve made the boy’s head spin.

  Apparently, his brother could not stay away from the lass any more than he could.

  Easing the chamber door closed after them, he gripped Connor’s arm and spun the lad to face him. Lines of sleep creased his brother’s cheek while weariness hung beneath his eyes.