by Carmen Caine
The entire affair provided the Scottish court with plenty of gossip, but there was no longer any real danger. The French were as angry with him as the English now. The man had succeeded only in making enemies of those who would help him.
The summer waned, and the hint of fall was in the air.
With Albany’s latest doings safely behind him, Julian found himself growing restless in Edinburgh. In the past, he would have set himself off to a foreign land to let adventure take him where it willed, but now he longed instead for his ancestral lands.
Slipping into bed next to Liselle, he drew her close and chuckled. “I no longer recognize myself. Ye’ve made me far too respectable this past year, ye wee vixen. I fear Le Marin will fade into the realm of stories.”
“Never!” Liselle protested, flipping onto her stomach to nuzzle his ear. “But I see no harm in him staying by my side until next spring before venturing forth again.”
Julian frowned. “And why only till next spring? Will ye weary of me for good so soon?”
A softness crept over her face, and then pulling his head down, she whispered into his ear.
His gray eyes widened in shock.
A bairn.
Aye, but it seemed adventure had found him this time. And finding himself grinning like a daft fool, he caught Liselle up into his arms and kissed her passionately.
* * *
At any other time, Liselle would have enjoyed the sweet autumn and the crispy crackle of the fallen leaves as she stepped upon them, but she found little joy as the days marched on.
She was worried.
Nicoletta was more than a month overdue and winter would arrive soon. Only the most persistent yellow leaves clung desperately to the naked branches surrounding the castle.
“Ach, lass, fretting ‘tis harmful to the bairn,” Julian murmured against her neck early one morning as he lovingly caressed the small curve of her belly. “And if I know Nicoletta, she’s most likely harping on Pascal or Orazio this very moment. Ye’ve no cause to fret over her. Stay here and rest a while.”
She knew he meant to comfort her, but she was too restless to listen to reason. “Nicoletta has only just regained her health,” she said, frowning a little.
Rising from the bed, she pulled on her gray-leather boots and a cloak trimmed with fur, and leaving the castle, trudged across the frost-tipped field to stand near the road.
But Nicoletta did not come that day.
Nor the next.
Time passed. Winter arrived.
And each day, Liselle wandered restlessly. And each day, Julian faithfully rode his horse behind her, waiting until she grew tired to lift her with a strong arm into the saddle and carry her safely back to the castle.
“Ach now, ye wee devil, ye’ll catch ill!” he chided gently each afternoon.
Yet, she could not bear to sit still.
And then one particularly cold afternoon, Julian swung her lightly down from his horse when a willowy beauty wearing an embroidered lavender silk with a jet and silver brooch clasped about the graceful curve of her throat swept from the castle doors to greet them.
It was Nicoletta.
Wordlessly, Liselle ran into her arms and the two of them set about wailing and weeping tears of joy until Julian stepped between them.
“Mayhap ye’d care to continue this in the warmth of the hall, ladies?” he suggested with an uneasy eye cast in Nicoletta’s direction.
Her head swiveled his way. Placing a finger upon her lips, she responded coolly, “Silence will be your friend, Lord Gray.”
His brows arched in surprise. “Are ye ordering me to be silent in my own house?” he asked in astonishment.
“O cièl!” Nicoletta rolled her eyes. “Is the man deaf?”
Bursting into laughter, Liselle pulled her sister into the hall, and then tossing her cloak aside, grabbed both of Nicoletta’s hands in hers. “Tell me the news! All of it, Nicoletta!”
But Nicoletta’s face registered shock. “Are you with child, Liselle?” Her lips broke into a smile that quickly withered as her gaze fell upon Julian.
He grinned.
“Osti!” Nicoletta wailed before turning back to Liselle and hissing with a gleam of hope, “Please tell me that macaròn is not the father!”
“Nicoletta!” Liselle gasped, but more in amusement than anything else.
Pipes keened, announcing it was time for the midday feast, and as Liselle drew her sister towards the high table, Nicoletta sighed heavily.
“I worry for you!” she said, her voice taking on a dire tone. “You are cast alone in a savage land!”
“Alone?” Julian repeated in a tone of derision.
Politely holding out Nicoletta’s chair, he waited until she had taken it before playfully shoving it forward a bit with his booted foot.
Nicoletta sent him a dark look, and glancing up at Liselle, she repeated, “And you are cast alone in a savage land, sorèlina cara!”
“My lady, please sit.” Julian smiled warmly at his wife, assisting her with exaggerated care and kissing the top of her head before taking his place by her side.
Liselle watched the two of them, amused.
The meal passed pleasantly enough, and when Julian finally rose to excuse himself on estate matters, Nicoletta turned excitedly to Liselle.
“Have you heard the news of Albany?” she whispered.
“Albany?” Liselle blinked in surprise. “Is he not in France?”
Nicoletta tossed her head back and laughed. “He was, cara.” The smile on her lips was a smug one.
The way she said the word was spoke volumes. “He is dead then,” Liselle said.
It was the hand of the Vindictam. She could tell by the expression in Nicoletta’s eyes.
“Soon, you will hear the tidings,” Nicoletta said a bit proudly. “They will say that he was killed in a tournament in Paris—from a splinter entering his eye. They will never discover how he truly died. And Orazio! His hands flow with gold. England, France, and Scotland, they each secretly paid him to see the deed done!”
Orazio had ever been the wily one in such matters, but Liselle could only stare at her sister in slight horror. “You?” She swallowed.
“Not I!” Nicoletta shook her head, but her denial rang false.
Liselle glanced away. “Albany caused many to die,” she said finally. “I suppose it is only fitting.”
At that, Nicoletta reached over to cup Liselle’s face between her hands. “Forgive me, but I forget, cara! You do not have the assassin’s heart. Let us speak of other things.”
Liselle took a deep breath. She had changed. Far more than she had realized.
Across the hall, she saw the tall form of her husband clad in his white shirt and favorite plaid. Sensing her eyes upon him, he turned and grinned. Santo Ciélo, but his smile alone weakened her knees.
And then glancing down at the small curve of her belly, she closed her eyes, and for the first time in her life, she felt complete and at peace.
She was where she belonged.
Reaching over, she hugged her sister tightly.
“You and Orazio were right from the start, Nicoletta. I should have listened,” she said softly. “I was meant for other things.”
The end
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The next book in “The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series”:
"The Bold Heart - due 2013"
“Moridac is beyond skilled as an archer, I’ll grant him that,” Ewan agreed, eyeing the slim, dark-haired youth playing a rowdy game of dice in the corner with several of Ewan’s men. “And his heart is as brave and valiant as any. But we are at war. There’s no place for a lad to ride amongst us.”
“Ach, Ewan!” Alec MacGreggor protested mildly around a mouthful of oatcake. “I’d wager my finest dirk that he’s older than I am!” Tipping his chair back on two legs, he raised his voice, “Moridac, lad, how many summers do ye have under your bel
t?”
Across the room, Moridac craned his neck in their direction. “And why do ye care?” he challenged, his lively dark eyes brightening with interest.
“Why canna ye answer a simple question?” Alec snorted, slamming his chair down. “’Tis always a challenge with ye!”
“Ye’ve the patience of a nit, MacGreggor!” Moridac retorted in reply.
As their banter continued, Ewan crossed his arms and observed the raven-haired Moridac from beneath furrowed brows.
There were times of late that he had thought the lad would make a better lass. He was far too slender, too graceful, and his skin too soft. But Sweet Mary! This evening in the dim light of the burning embers, he didn’t look like a lad at all. The curve of his throat was downright womanly!
And then Moridac’s dark eyes met his, gleaming with amusement, and Ewan glanced away.
There it was again. The odd effect the lad had on him.
Abruptly, the lad threw in his hand at the dice and left to care for the horses, and it was with some measure of relief that Ewan watched him go.
“He’s old enough—” Alec began.
But Ewan cut him short. “The lad leaves on the morrow.”
Several of the men gasped.
“Ach, but ye’ve grown downright disagreeable of late, Ewan!” Alec’s tawny brows knit into a line. “If ‘tweren’t for Moridac, we’d be feeding the crows now, and well ye know it!”
“I’ll brook no argument. Give the lad coin and send him on his way!” Ewan ordered, a little surprised himself at the harshness in his tone.
At that, Alec rose abruptly to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor. “Nay! Not after what he’s done for us,” he said hotly. “Tell him yourself!”
All eyes followed him as he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
There was a stilted silence, one in which Ewan moved to prop his booted foot on the table. And keenly aware of the disapproving glares of his men, he turned to his own thoughts and settled in for another long, sleepless night.
There was no doubt he owed his life to the young Moridac.
They all did.
But ‘twas precisely for that reason that he’d see the lad go. The battlefield was too grim a place for such a gentle soul.
A mirthless smile played on Ewan’s lips.
Over the years, his reputation as a renowned warrior and a swordsman unmatched had only grown with each battle he fought. But few saw the scars upon his heart and fewer still knew that his sleep was haunted with the screams of dying men.
He would spare the tender Moridac that pain at least.
After a time, both Moridac and Alec returned, and as the men rolled into their cloaks upon the floor, snores gradually replaced all other sounds.
The night passed with interminable slowness. For Ewan, sleep came only in fits and starts. And it was with his customary relief that he saw the dawn break.
And when Moridac rose to tiptoe over the sleeping men to slip outside, Ewan made up his mind.
He’d tell the lad now.
Fastening his woolen cloak over his leather hauberk with a large round brooch, he stepped out into the cold morning air.
Frozen peat crackled beneath his feet as he shaded his eyes and scanned the dun-colored hills spread out before him.
There was no sign of the lad.
A bitter gust of wind lifted the hem of his cloak. The thin sunshine would do little to warm the day. In the distance, clouds gathered on the horizon, heralding more snow. It would be a cold ride.
It was then that a movement near the trees in the distance caught his attention.
Ewan hesitated, suddenly recalling the awkward encounter the last time he had spied upon the lad’s peculiar habits. His own reactions had been disconcerting to say the least.
But he had little time for such concerns, not with a storm approaching.
Steeling his resolve, he swiftly set off down the narrow path towards the forest.
He didn’t go far. By the time he heard the sound of the murmuring brook tumbling over the rocks, he spied Moridac through a gap in the ancient, gnarled trees.
The lad was kneeling by the water, his cloak and his tunic had fallen off his shoulders, and he appeared to be concentrating upon unwinding a bandage wrapped around his chest.
Ewan’s mouth tightened in concern.
The lad was injured!
Alarmed, he stepped through the underbrush just as the bandage fell away.
It took Ewan a moment to recognize what he was seeing.
The soft swell of a breast. The gentle curve of a hip.
And then his jaw dropped open.
This was no lad!
Moridac was a woman!
Relief coursed through him, a relief so profound that he chuckled outright.
At the sound, Moridac whirled, tripping back over the exposed roots of an ancient oak to sprawl headlong into the damp earth.
“Aye, now, lass!” Ewan laughed, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “’Tis no cause for alarm!”
Rolling over, she sprang to her feet and gathered her cloak close about her. “Stand back, Ewan!” She glared.
The cloak slipped a little, exposing her bare shoulder, and all at once his blood ran hot. Aye, it had been too long since he’d allowed himself lusty thoughts over a lass. He could only grin. How had he not seen from the start?
She was downright bonny! From her willowy height, short-cropped curls, to the perpetual mischievous gleam in her brown eyes.
And then she scowled.
And that simple knotting of the brows effectively doused any impulse he might have had. For in that instant, he knew exactly who she was.
Sweet Mary, but she had changed since he’d helped to rescue her as a lassie from her aged and cruel husband!
His heart sank.
How could he even dare to think one lusty thought over Ruan MacLeod’s wee sister? Aye, he’d almost preferred that Moridac was a lad!
Half-choking, the name was torn from his lips:
“Merry MacLeod!”
ABOUT CARMEN CAINE
Like many of us on this planet, Carmen Caine/Madison Adler is from another world. She spends every moment she can scribbling stories on sticky notes that her kids find posted all over the car, house, and barn.
When she is not working as a software engineer, she is busy ferrying her kids to various appointments, writing lyrics for her husband's songs,raising her Doberman Ajax, attempting to tame her three insane cats, scratching her three Nigerian Dwarf Goats behind the horns or coddling her flock of thirty bizarre chickens from around the world.
And although I am terrible at tweeting and posting on Facebook (though I do strive to improve), please find me at the following places:
Carmen and Madison's Facebook Fanpage
Facebook friends with Madison Adler ( aka Carmen )
Facebook friends with Carmen Caine ( aka Madison )
Madison's Twitter - more paranormal content
Carmen's Twitter - more medieval content
Carmen and Madison's website
THE GLASS WALL SERIES (PG-13)
What if humans were more powerful than they thought? What if an alien race had a reason to keep humanity entrenched in fear? And what if ancient beings that we've met before were still trying to protect us?
And just what if the fate of Earth depended upon an average 17-year-old girl with a few secrets of her own?
Would she discover that the power of love was truly the strongest of all?
Prequel - the short story "Behind the Mirror"
Rafael Channing is a Fate Tracker, protecting his world and Earth from disaster, but what should he do when disaster appears in the form of love?
Book One - The Glass Wall
17-year-old Sydney's only interest in life is flying under the radar.
But destiny has other plans when the tall, handsome, formal, and unusual Rafael Channing moves into the neighborhood. Athletic and with kille
r looks, he wears black eyeliner like a magician and seems to be watching Sydney's every move.
What starts out as a light-hearted investigation with her gadget-happy foster father takes a serious turn when she discovers that Rafael isn't human. Add Jareth, the country's latest rock sensation, into the mix and Sydney is swept into a mysterious world of Tulpas, the Fae, and the Brotherhood of the Snake.
Sydney doesn't know she's a Blue Thread of Fate. She doesn't know the fate of humanity depends on her choice of whom to trust--Jareth or Rafael. And she certainly doesn't know that she's taken the first step on the unexpected path of love.
Book Two of the Glass Wall- The Brotherhood of the Snake
The excitement and mystery continues as the romance begins. After breaking the Glass Wall, Sydney finds herself on the run with Rafael. And as her feelings for him awaken, danger arrives in the form of Mesmers, agents of evil sent by the Brotherhood of the Snake.
But when Jareth struts back onto the scene, it isn't long before Sydney finds herself immersed in sinister secrets, and the subsequent whirlwind of events leaves her wondering just who is right and who is wrong?
Book Three of the Glass Wall - The Inner Circle
As the predictions from the Hall of Mirrors come true, Sydney seizes control of her destiny and makes a choice between Rafael and Jareth. A choice of true love.
And as she evades Mesmers, Tulpas, and the Fae's Inner Circle, she discovers the power of human thought.
But then one of the three makes their Blue-Threaded decision, the decision of fate.
Is it the right one?
Book Four of the Glass Wall - The Egg (2014)
A death. A beginning. And the final Blue-Threaded decisions are made.
A NEW ADULT PARANORMAL SERIES
The first book of other-wordly creatures: "monster" (2014)
THE HIGHLAND HEATHER AND HEARTS SCOTTISH ROMANCE SERIES (PG-13)
The Kindling Heart
(Scotland, 1478) - Ruan MacLeod was through with women. They were nothing but trouble. Leaving the rash life of his youth behind, he returned to Skye, seeking peace. He never meant to split the clan or start a war with the MacDonald of Duntulm. He certainly never foresaw an arranged marriage to the most scandalous woman in Scotland. Even though she was twice his age, the size of a horse and mother to more than one illegitimate child, he agreed to secure his sister's freedom.