The Rebel of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  Standing here, outside of the stone walls, surrounded by darkness, she suddenly felt very vulnerable.

  Not only was it frightening here, but what if one of the night guards passed by, and thought to peer inside the crevice? What if one of Magnus’s companions answered at his window, instead of him? Searching along the edge of the wall, she found the ladder Magnus had used before. Hoisting it up, she set it into place so that she could return quickly to her window if needed, and kick the ladder down where it would not be seen at first glance.

  Returning to his window, she tapped on the shutter.

  “Magnus,” she said quietly. “Are you there?”

  Again, no one answered. Her stomach clenched with anxiety. If he wasn’t there, where was he? Had he even returned from the hunt?

  She tried once more, knocking harder. “Magnus.”

  The shutter jerked open, startling her.

  Chapter 12

  “Who is there?” queried a young woman, her voice soft and sleepy. “Hello?”

  The voice sent a jagged shock through Tara’s heart. Tara’s lips went numb. Everything went numb.

  It was not the voice she’d expected to hear.

  Quickly, she pressed herself against the wall, so she would not be seen. The cold stones, against her back, chilled her through.

  She didn’t understand. There were no other windows in sight. This was the window he’d spoken from that night, just below and to the side of hers. The one he’d told her to come to if she needed him.

  It was the place where he slept.

  “I’m so sorry for waking you,” Tara said, speaking toward the window. “I … must be mistaken. I was looking for Magnus.”

  “He’s here, but he’s asleep,” the voice answered.

  “Who is asking?” demanded another woman’s voice, sounding bleary and annoyed.

  There was not one woman, but two in Magnus’s bed.

  With Magnus?

  The night was silent, save for the crash of the ocean waves, and yet it seemed as if as if a thousand cymbals smashed against one another inside her head.

  It couldn’t be true.

  But it was.

  “I don’t know who it is,” the other one answered quietly. “I can’t see her. She is hiding against the wall where I can’t see her.”

  Hiding. Yes—she was hiding. How pitiable. How sad.

  “Well, tell her to go away,” the one insisted sharply.

  “That’s not very nice,” the gentler one whispered.

  “Then I shall,” the other one said. “Hello? Hello there?” she said in a loud, provocative voice. “He’s not interested in you. He’s already got more than he can handle with the two of us in his bed.”

  The words stabbed through her heart. Tara did not respond. She stood frozen against the wall, her eyes wide and tear-filled. Her heart clenched in her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand, to keep from making a sound.

  “Oh you, shush!” chastised the other. “You’re going to wake him.”

  “Wake who?” It was his voice, thick with sleep. Magnus was there. “Go back to sleep.”

  The two women giggled, and the shutters slammed closed.

  She backed away from the window, staring at the shutters, waiting for them to fly open, for his face to appear. For him to smile and laugh, in that easy, gregarious way of his, and provide some completely plausible explanation for what she’d just seen and heard.

  But there was nothing. Only the cold and the darkness, pressing all around her.

  She gasped, smothered by a sudden wave of loneliness that barreled through her, and shame that she had placed all her trust in him. It wasn’t even that she had expected him to save her. She feared that wasn’t possible. But she had let him make love to her. Imagined him to be the one—the only one. Her soul’s match. Her one true … love.

  It all seemed so foolish now. She’d been overly trusting. So stupid!

  She backed away, her slippers scraping over the uneven earth, and bumped into the ladder.

  Turning, she grasped the sides, and attempted three times to set her foot on the bottom rung before she found purchase and climbed.

  *

  Magnus did not see Tara the next day—or the next night, because he had no key to the barred window, so had no way to enter her room as he’d done before—and when he’d gone there in the dark, he’d found the bars locked. He could only think that perhaps news of the hunting party’s return had not reached the occupants of the tower.

  On the morning of the next day, he emerged from the Pit, his stomach in knots, having gone too long without seeing her. Tension pulled at the muscles between his shoulders. Agitation interrupted his every thought. He’d barely slept, kept awake by memories of her body … of their lovemaking, and his desire for more.

  But other, more concerning questions interfered with his rest. Was she all right? God, he missed her. Until he saw her for himself, he felt as if he’d exist with some sort of a hole in his heart.

  Then suddenly, she was there, standing beside the Lady Alwyn in the chapel during prayers, her head covered with a veil, revealing only the barest outline of her face.

  He hadn’t realized how miserable he’d been, kept apart from her, until that moment, as relief filtered through him. At the same time, heat warmed his blood with the pleasure of seeing her again.

  Thankfully, Hugh was nowhere to be seen. He had sulked in his chambers in protest after Magnus had formally petitioned the laird to imprison Ferchar and two of his companions in the castle’s dungeon for the next fortnight for their attempted assault of Kyla and Laire. Though Magnus had intervened before any true harm could be done, they and the other young women who worked in the castle had come to live in fear of the same three men. To his satisfaction, his new position as war-chief gave his opinions weight. The laird listened and the men had been straightaway summoned and escorted to their new homes below the castle floors.

  When prayers were done, he followed at a distance behind the women, and observed as Tara and her maidservant broke away, as if to go for a walk. He followed them along the cliffs, to the cemetery, where peering through the trees, he saw her standing above a grave—a grave bearing a marker carved with her sister’s name.

  When he came closer, the maid quickly moved away, leaving them together.

  “Tara?” he said.

  “Hugh told me that Arabel’s stone had not yet been completed by the mason, and that’s why I couldn’t find it before.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “No.”

  There was something distant about her manner.

  He moved to stand beside her, and glanced down to find her staring straight ahead at the stone.

  “I have missed you,” he said, puzzled by her demeanor, when before, everything had felt so natural between them.

  “… Have you?” she asked.

  Taking her by the arms, he turned her toward him. “I have. I have wanted nothing more than to see you, but it seems everything has worked against me since I have returned from the hunt.”

  She said nothing. She only looked at him in silence, her expression inscrutable. He saw then, the paleness of her skin. The shadows beneath her eyes.

  “Tara, are you well?” His heart tripped a beat. “Is everything all right? Did something happen while I was gone?”

  “No, nothing happened while you were gone.” She exhaled, avoiding his gaze. “It’s just … that I have spent the last four days in that tower, and even now, I feel as if I am a prisoner. Buchan will arrive soon. Any day. I cannot help but feel … apprehensive.”

  “I understand,” he answered. “But you must not fear.”

  “I just want to know what happened to my sister.”

  She stood rigidly, and he could not help but feel that she was a thousand miles away. To embrace her now … to kiss her, seemed an intrusion. The astounding closeness they’d shared before seemed to have been lost. Was it possible she regretted what had happened between t
hem four nights ago? He must remember that she was an innocent, and that he had taken something from her she could never have back. Something precious. And then he’d left her alone, in this unhappy place, with nothing but her thoughts and fears. He must take care, and give her any assurances she needed.

  “I could come for you tonight,” he suggested. “And take you for a ride, away from here.”

  She lifted a hand touched it to the center of his chest. The movement seemed careful, without true familiarity or ease.

  “I have heard there is a celebration taking place in a village near to here. With dancing and a bonfire. I would so very much like to go. Just to see. Just to feel free again.”

  “Rackamoor.” He nodded, relieved that she wanted him to take her anywhere because just a moment before, he’d thought with some certainty she would tell him that they must never speak to one another again. “It is not far from Burnbryde. I will take you there. Tonight.”

  There would be others there from Burnbryde, but he knew from times past, the night would be dark, and ale flowing. He felt certain they could enjoy the revelry in secret and chase away the shadows he saw in her eyes. Best of all, it would be the perfect excuse to get her away from the castle—and take her to Inverhaven. He would not tell her until tonight at Rackamoor, for fear she would refuse to go. She would see once she was there. She would adore Elspeth, as he did, and she would be safe until he could return to her, his vengeful destiny fulfilled.

  She nodded. “I will wait for you at the window until you come.”

  Already she was gone from his embrace, without a kiss, without so much as a squeeze of her hand on his arm. She joined her companion and together they made their way up the stony incline, their cloaks snapping in the ocean wind.

  Something felt distinctly off kilter, but he felt certain that when they were alone, she would confide her fears or whatever was wrong. Still, he wondered what had changed between those passionate hours in her chambers, and now.

  That evening, in the smoky darkness of the great hall, he sat among Chissolm and Adam and the others, once again, waiting for the time when he could break away unnoticed to see Tara again. The castle had undergone a thorough cleaning, and gleaming banners had been hung in expectation of the Earl of Buchan’s arrival in the coming days.

  Tonight, while delivering Tara to the care of the Kincaids, Magnus would meet with his brother to finalize his plan. As a member of the laird’s inner circle, he would be privy to meetings with Buchan.

  He must harness every bit of his fury, of his cunning, and elicit … provoke … compel explanations from the Alwyn and Buchan, their confessions of whatever plotting against the Kincaids they’d done, and then he would join Niall on the battlefield to defeat them, with the understanding the Alwyn and Hugh, as battle opponents, belonged to him alone. Because of his love for Tara … his wish for them to have a future, and children … he would not slay the men, but seek justice to the courts, which meant capturing and imprisoning them in the tower at Inverhaven, and demanding their trial by the Estates of Parliament. Based on the history of the land as he knew it, he could not expect that he and his brother would be punished for presenting true evidence and testimony, even against the son of the king. The process would either result in punishment—or their freedom, but he must live with that, and be satisfied that their shameful crimes had been revealed to all, if he expected to live himself and have a long life with Tara.

  There was so much that could go awry. Uncertainty over how events would unfold kept his nerves drawn tight, and yet he must proceed forward observing everything and reacting decisively, believing the righteous and true cause of the Kincaids would prevail.

  And that Tara, in the end, would be his.

  Kyla and Laire hovered about, tending to his every need. Though he had insisted they did not need to show him any gratitude beyond simple thanks, he knew they remained fearful of being caught alone by Hugh and kept close to his side at all times. It was not that any other warrior of the Pit would not defend them, just as fiercely as he, but any other man would be punished severely by the laird for challenging and humiliating his son in such a public place, in full view of the gathered clan, while everyone knew that Magnus, in recent days, had found increased favor and in the eyes of the Alwyn, and a respected position within the clan.

  But he also noticed, with no amusement, that they vied for his attention, more now than ever before. He feared there were hopes … expectations … that he might show a preference for one of them, but he had never felt for either woman to that degree. He loved them, aye, but he would never be in love with either. Never feel for either as he felt for Tara. Had he known that first moment in the forest? Perhaps. He wasn’t exactly certain when his soul had sworn itself to her, and no other, but it was done, and now every other woman seemed invisible to him, at least where his passions were concerned.

  When their duties were done in the kitchen, the young women returned, sinking down on either side of his legs, for there was no room on the bench. Kyla rested her head on his bent knee, while Laire propped her elbows on the opposite leg, chattering into her friend’s ear. He allowed it for only the briefest moment, then stood, moving to the end of the table to speak with Chissolm.

  It was then that he saw Tara passing along the edge of the room, accompanied by one of Lady Alwyn’s tower guards, making her way toward the kitchen. Her gaze already shifted away from him. The room grew silent, as others took note of her.

  When she emerged from the kitchen—still accompanied by the guard, carrying an earthenware crock in her hands—she did not so much as glance in his direction. Instead, she looked rigidly forward, until with a bewitching swirl of her kirtle’s long skirt, she disappeared into the outer corridor.

  An hour later, he was relieved to find her waiting on the ledge when he approached in the darkness, drawing his horse behind him. She perched there, watching him approach in silence, her body enveloped in a hood and cloak, with only the pale moon of her face to draw his eye in the darkness.

  “Do you still wish to go to Rackamoor?”

  “If you still wish to take me.” Her voice, smooth and soft, made his groin go warm and tight. It seemed even the smallest thing about her aroused a passion inside him.

  “That, I do.”

  He reached for her, helping her from the ledge. Her hands rested on his shoulders as he brought her down. Her body brushed heavily against his, all softness and mystery. When her feet touched the ground, he lifted her chin, and kissed her. When she did not respond, he held her chin, and kissed her again, slowly and with seductive intent.

  At first she did not move, but then, he felt it. Desire flared up between them, as real and magnificent as before.

  She exhaled unevenly, and curled her fingers against his shoulders. His mouth slanted on hers, opening, and he stepped closer … pulled her closer.

  She stepped back, her hands pushing gently at his chest—putting distance between them. “If you start that now, we’ll never get to Rackamoor, and I want more than anything to see a bonfire tonight.”

  He watched as she moved directly to his horse, his heart beating in his chest. Standing there, she made no attempt to climb into the saddle. Instead she stood, her back straight, staring ahead as if she were thinking very hard over some thought, or … gathering her emotions.

  In the distance, ocean waves crashed against the cliffs. His boots crunched on the earth under his feet.

  “Tara, something is wrong. Something has happened to upset you. Tell me.”

  “There is nothing.” She turned to him, and he thought, in the darkness, that he saw tears in her eyes. “I am only eager to be gone from this place. Will you take me to Rackamoor?”

  Something was wrong. He was certain of it. But now was not the time to press her, here where someone might pass by and see or overhear them. He would take her to Rackamoor and there, in the light of the fire, coax out the truth about whatever troubled her then. And, perhaps before going on to Inverha
ven, he would make love to her on some dark piece of earth, on a bed made of his plaid … and reclaim the closeness that seemed to have been lost between them.

  “Let us go then,” he said, knowing he must be understanding and patient.

  She rode astride on the saddle before him, which satisfied, at least in some small way, his need to hold her. Though nearly midnight, there were still people about, and Magnus kept to the shadows so that no one they passed along the way would see her face. The guards at the gate did not dare question him about who his female companion was for the night.

  He urged his horse into a run, and they traveled under a dark blue sky, dotted by distant stars. It was a pleasure, holding her smaller body against his larger one, within the circle of his arms, groin, and thighs. The nearness only brought to mind, in a heated rush of memories, the night they’d shared, visions emblazoned upon his mind, which he could not help but replay over again. Each night of the hunt he’d passed in torment, assailed with memories of her bare skin, of how it had felt to be inside her. He could not help but think the same thoughts now.

  Though she wore her hooded cloak against the cold, he gave into temptation more than once as they rode, to press a kiss on her cheek. When he did so, she closed her eyes and breathed heavily, her slender hands, covered with woolen mittens, clenching his thighs, proof his kisses still affected her just as much as they did him.

  But at last a large fire appeared in the night, a radiant ember in the dark. Drumbeats and the wild trill of flutes carried on the wind. A raucous multitude danced and shouted and laughed, illuminated only by torches planted in the ground, here and there, a scene both pagan and wild.

  Magnus pulled a stake from its leather band at the back of his saddle, and drove it into the ground, tying his mount so he would not wander.

  “Come.” Taking Tara’s hand, he drew her along the edge of the crowd, before turning toward her … leading her by both hands into the midst of the dance, where the hooded cloaks they wore, and the dense throng of revelers and shadows concealed their faces.