by Amy Jarecki
Kennan grumbled under his breath. Everyone wanted to be a smart-arse. Of course. It was Beltane. By the end of the evening the pairing would start—lassie’s choice. His gut clenched. He wasn’t about to let some randy Highlander haul Divana off into the brush and have his way. And Kennan knew it could happen. The ale flowed freely, the weather was fine for once, and the promise of spring was on the air. Hell, it was a recipe for disaster.
As the reel ended, he marched straight up to Divana. If nothing else, it was his duty to protect her, especially tonight. She smiled at him, her face flushed. “Sir Kennan. I’m afraid I’m nay as graceful as the others.”
Wiping a hand across his eyes, he offered his elbow. “Would you care to take a wee stroll with me?”
She placed her fingers in the crook of his arm. They were far more delicate than he’d remembered, making his skin tingle beneath. “Ye do not want to dance?”
“I’m nay much of a dancer. I prefer a more intimate crowd.”
“For dancing? That makes it difficult when there’s a gathering of so many people.”
“I mostly watch the others kick up their heels.”
“That can be fun, too.”
“Did you have dancing lessons as a lass?”
“Nay. We danced, though. Whenever there was a gathering—I guess I do not remember the steps all that well.”
Kennan stopped and faced her. Though they were in the shadows beyond the light of the fire, the music still swirled around them. “We could dance here where no one will see us.”
“Here? With ye?”
“Aye.” He brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. “Though ’tis Beltane, lass. That means you choose to dance with whomever you please.”
She grinned, her white teeth gleaming blue in the moonlight. “My choice?”
He stepped nearer and was blessed with the fragrance of rose and the unmistakable scent of Divana. “Yes,” he whispered.
Drawing a sharp breath, she tilted her chin up, her gaze locking with his.
Damn it all, his body shouldn’t be responding like a stag, but his mind refused to take charge. Holding both her hands, he started in a slow circle. “Dancing like this is more diverting.”
Luminescent blue eyes filled with trust gazed up at him. “It is intoxicating.”
He pulled her nearer. “So you agree?”
Together they stepped out. “To what?”
“Dance with me,” he whispered, bringing his lips to her ear as he lifted her off the ground and spun in circle after circle. “You are the bonniest woman at the gathering, and I cannot bear to watch all the young Highland whelps gawking at you as if you’re a prize to be won.”
As he twirled, she turned to butter in his arms, resting her head against his chest. “I’ll dance with ye, Kennan. Ye’re my choice always.”
He set her down and ran his hands along her arms. She shivered beneath his fingertips. “Are you cold?”
“Nay,” she replied, her breasts heaving—begging to be caressed, kissed, fondled, adored. Looking like a goddess, she tilted her face upward and gazed directly into his eyes.
When had she woven her way into his heart? Dipping his chin, he pulled her into his embrace. “Then I aim to kiss you, lass.”
Chapter Twelve
Heaven. Floating in Kennan’s arms must be exactly what it was like to be floating on a heavenly cloud. As soon as his lips touched hers, Divana turned to liquid honey in his arms, sighing against his mouth, praying his kiss would never end.
And it didn’t.
He brushed the parting of her mouth with a warm tongue, as if asking permission to taste her. Holding on for dear life, wanting to please him with every fiber of her body, Divana timidly opened her lips, wishing, craving, needing to prove worthy of his affection. As she let him in, his tongue swept inside her mouth, making her body gush with want. Making something coil deep inside, as though she’d die if he dared pull away.
Her thirst for him turned unquenchable when he drew her flush against him, the friction from the contact of their bodies sending a wave of desire swirling in her breasts. Every inch of her flesh inflamed while his hands slid down and gripped her buttocks, drawing her hips even nearer.
Something hard came between them, causing a deep ache between her legs. Divana’s head swam with the power of the emotions pulsing through her blood—feelings she barely comprehended.
She gasped at his lips skimming her neck. “What’s happening to me?”
“’Tis the magic of Beltane,” he growled, his warm tongue caressing the tops of her breasts.
Gripping his arms, Divana forced her eyes open. Beltane? It was a pagan holiday. Suddenly chilled, disappointment gripped her. She knew enough about the holiday to realize Kennan’s affection could not possibly be real. He’d been addled by the ale or the thrum of the music or the charge of excitement in the air. Tomorrow she would wake a scullery maid, and the man with his warm, sensuous lips kissing her breasts would still be the heir to the Cameron chieftainship—a knight of such a lofty rank, a lass like Divana had no hope of winning his love. And no matter how utterly marvelous it felt to be in his arms, remaining there was wrong.
“Nay,” she clipped, pushing him away. “I am no harlot!”
A crease formed between Kennan’s brows as his eyes filled with bewilderment. “N-n-no, you’re not.”
“Then why did ye do…do…do that!”
“Kiss you?”
“Aye.”
“Every man at the gathering has a mind to do the same.”
She rubbed her fingers across her lips, trying to erase the tingling. “But I thought it was my choice!”
“It is.” He spread his big palms to his sides, a deeper crease furrowing his forehead. “Forgive me. Did you not want me to kiss you?”
She clutched her fists under her chin. “It is not the wanting of your affection that scares me.”
He inched forward, one eye squinting as if he didn’t quite understand. “Nay?”
“’Tis just that kissing ye is too…too wonderful!”
“But…I…um…” He ran his fingers over the golden clan brooch at his shoulder—yet another sign of his highborn station. “I beg your pardon?”
She huffed out a sigh. “A-a-and awful!”
Unable to remain there a moment longer, Divana dashed for the servants’ entrance. How was she to explain her feelings to him—the heir to the Cameron dynasty? Kissing Sir Kennan Cameron filled her with more desire than she’d ever experienced in her life. How could it not be sinful to feel so inexplicably fantastic? Worse, since she’d been at Achnacarry, every time she set eyes on the Highlander made her desire him all the more.
He can never be mine! Dashing up the steps, tears stung her eyes. I must never dance with him again.
With an enormous sob, she almost burst through the door of the small chamber she shared with Fiona—except it was already ajar.
A flash of movement made Divana stop as if she’d slammed into a wall. A sigh came from within.
Making not a sound, she peered through the opening. The sight made her gasp and blink rapidly, trying to make sense of the shocking figures entwined within. She ought to run, but her limbs had frozen stiff. Saint Columba, ’twas the most outlandish sight she’d ever seen. Had she plunged into a ritual of pagan Beltane sin?
Garry, a stable hand, wore only a shirt, his kilt around his ankles, his hairy arse completely bare. Another sigh filled the chamber. He stood behind Fiona, her skirts pulled nearly over her head, while he plunged himself in and out of her from behind.
Divana clenched her fists, ready to barrel in and give Garry a good kick in his naked backside, but from the sweet sounds of pleasure coming from Fiona, she liked it—liked what he was doing to her a great deal.
Taking a step back, Divana wanted to hide her eyes, yet her fists remained stiff at her sides. As Fiona’s moans grew, Garry moved faster and faster, throwing his head back with his panting breath.
“Oh, oh, oh, n
ow!” the lass cried.
A deep bellow erupted from the stable hand’s throat as he withdrew, spurting like a stallion and collapsing over the lass, gasping as if he’d run for miles.
In a blink, Divana reclaimed her wits and stepped aside, shoving her back against the wall. She buried her face in her hands. What horrors had she just witnessed?
Good glory, when she’d kissed Kennan, the hardness between them was his manhood. Did he desire her in that…that…that completely unusual way?
Divana trembled, surprised not to be completely disgusted by the thought of doing…that…with Kennan.
“We’d best hurry,” said Fiona from inside the chamber. “Ma will be searching for me.”
“We ought to tell her, ye ken.”
“Never. She’d take the switch to me.”
He’d best offer to marry her, the lout!
Not wanting to be caught, Divana tiptoed down a flight of steps and waited on the landing until she heard footsteps and giggles approaching. Pursing her lips, she did her best to look taken aback. “Fiona, no lads are allowed in the women’s quarters.”
“Shhh.” The lass dashed toward her and grasped her hands. “Ye must promise not to tell. Pleeease. It would mean my position if you did.”
Divana squeezed her fingers and gave a nod. “Och, after all ye’ve done for me, I’d never speak out against ye.” Then she shifted her gaze to Garry. “But I’ll have your promise that ye’ll respect this young maid always.”
“Ah…” He shot a dubious glance to Fiona, who winked. “I-I…uh…always. Of course.”
“Very well then. Good evening,” Divana said, praying she hadn’t turned as red as a scarlet rose. She gripped her trembling hands against her midriff, unable to race up the stairs fast enough. Beltane certainly was as wild as everyone claimed. And it made her all too self-aware. Too many emotions pulsed through her. She needed to crawl under the bedclothes and think.
Survival might be easier at Achnacarry, but living under Lochiel’s roof was far more complicated.
* * *
The sun dipped low in the western sky as Kennan tightened the girth of his horse’s saddle. It would take about two hours to ride to Corpach on Loch Eil, where Clan Cameron moored their galleys. From the loch, given good winds, they could expect a half day’s sailing to Port Glasgow.
“There you are, lad,” said Da, hastening into the stables and waving a letter. “A missive just arrived from Mar.”
Kennan gave his horse’s shoulder a pat and met his father halfway down the aisle. “I hope it is good news.”
Da shoved the parchment into his hand. “Do not tarry, open the blasted thing.”
Kennan examined the seal, then ran his thumb beneath the wax and shook the letter open.
“Come, lad. What does it say?”
He gave his father a look before he tilted the missive toward the light and read.
“Well?” Da persisted.
“He opens with a bit of jesting at first…says he’s surprised I’m not in the Americas making a name for myself.”
“What about the bloody incident in Dundee?”
Kennan read on. “Och, here it is. The queen issued a pardon for the debacle over six months past…he’s not surprised that Fort William’s information is dated…aaaand he also dispatched a missive to the colonel to ensure their records were set to rights.”
“And under no circumstances are any pernicious sergeants to badger you further?” Da asked.
“Aye, that about sums it up.” Kennan folded the letter and stuffed it into his doublet. “Well, that’s one thorn in my side easily removed.”
“Thank God.”
“Agreed.” Kennan strolled back to his horse. “With this I’ll be free to spend a bit more time in port, recruiting the hands I need for the journey. I’ll purchase supplies as well.”
“You’re still planning to return home, are you not? Spend a few more days with your old man?”
Kennan gave his father a firm pat on the shoulder. “There’s no chance I’ll sail without my core crew.” Mounting, he took up the reins. “I hope to return in a month…and whilst I’m away, would you please watch over Divana?”
“The wee Campbell lass?”
“Aye. She has no family here. ’Twould be nice to see Lady Lochiel take the maid under her wing—entrust her with more responsibilities. After all, if it weren’t for her, I mightn’t have made it home.”
“Very well, I’ll have a word with Jean.”
“My thanks.” Kennan saluted his father, then rode his horse out to the courtyard where Lachie Mor and three of his best men were waiting. “Are you ready to ride?”
The old quartermaster grinned, the gap between his front his teeth made darker by twilight. “Bloody oath, I’ve been ready for ages.”
As they headed through the postern gate, a high-pitched voice rang out, echoing between the curtain walls. “Sir Kennan, wait!”
Reining his horse to a stop, he glanced back. Divana ran toward him with a basket in hand. His heart twisted. Seeing the dregs of sunlight flicker through her coppery hair as she sprinted across the cobbles was too reminiscent of a simpler time. She was right to have stopped him at Beltane. He’d lost his mind when he kissed her. And blast it all, he must never hurt the lass.
If only he’d been born a crofter, he might have proposed. That’s what she deserved.
Breathing heavily, she stopped beside him, her cheeks rosy, her smile a tad unsure. “I packed some food for ye and the men—things ye mightn’t have thought to bring.”
The delicious aroma of freshly baked shortbread wafted from beneath the cloth covering the basket’s contents. Though it wasn’t easy to fasten a basket to his saddle. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Would you mind wrapping the victuals in the cloth and placing them into my saddlebags?”
She glanced behind him as she bit her lip. “Oh. Of course.”
He leaned down and lowered his voice. “But those biscuits smell too good to ignore. May I have one for the road?”
“Aye.” Her expression brightened as she gave him a warm triangle of shortbread. “And ye’ll be returning soon, will ye not?”
“As soon as I can, and whilst I’m gone, my father will ensure you are cared for.”
She unfastened the buckles on his leather bag and pushed in the parcel. “Your da?” she asked, wincing.
“Does my news make you unhappy?”
“He’s a wee bit frightening,” she whispered.
Kennan knew very well how menacing Lochiel appeared. He scowled and strolled about the halls of Achnacarry like an ogre at times. In fact, as a lad, Kennan had been terrified of his father, but the great chieftain was kindhearted toward his allies—though naught could be said for his enemies. “Perhaps, but he’s a good man.”
“I wish you weren’t leaving.”
God, how her words cut him to the quick. If circumstances were different, he’d be able to stay. But Kennan would be a coward if he didn’t face Vane. He’d never be able to live with himself.
“I’m a sea captain, remember? ’Tis what I do.” He kissed his fingers, then raised his shortbread in thanks. “I’ll see you soon, lassie.”
What was it about the redheaded woman? As her vivid blue eyes met his gaze, his heart twisted. It seemed the damned organ was doing too much twisting of late. Again Kennan regretted his actions at Beltane. Why had he grown so jealous when Runner told her she looked bonny? Or when he noticed every man at the gathering was watching her dance? He should have been relieved to see her garner so such attention.
Bless it, Divana would make a fine Highland wife. She was loving and selfless and bonny on top of it all. With luck, by the time he returned, she’d be courting a strapping young man from Clan Cameron.
Kennan gripped his reins tighter, demanding a fast trot from his horse. If some young whelp did so much as steal a kiss, he’d challenge the rake to a duel.
“Ye seem a wee bit agitated, sir,” said Lachie Mor, riding beside
him. “I would have thought after the news from Mar you’d be racing for Loch Eil with your hair afire.”
“I’m anxious to sail to Glasgow is all.”
“You’re twisted in knots over what to do with the lass.”
“Hold your tongue.”
The old quartermaster chuckled but kept his opinions at bay. Aye, Kennan cared what happened to Divana, but that’s where it had to end. The sooner she found another, the better. Why, she wouldn’t be simply courting, she’d most likely find her spouse while Kennan was off chasing Vane—and God only knew how long he’d be away.
The last of the light faded and the men rode quietly, keeping an eye out for soldiers and highwaymen. A weight lifted from his shoulders when the waters of Loch Eil sparkled in the moonlight…right before he saw the glimmer of a musket barrel swing his way.
“Ambu—!” The word hadn’t completely left his lips as the gun flashed. Before the deafening blast touched his ears, the world turned white around him as the musket ball hit and hurled him backward to the ground.
The last thing Kennan heard was Lachie Mor shout, “Ye bloody murdering bastard. He’s carrying a pardon from the queen!”
Chapter Thirteen
Unable to sleep, Divana wrapped a plaid around her shoulders and climbed the stairs to the curtain walls. Atop the ramparts, she could see for miles. Mountains surrounded the castle, and the village of Achnacarry down below was even smaller than Connel. To the north, the River Arkaig rolled toward the loch with a calming and steady hum. When they escaped from the mill at Mallaig, Kennan had taken her along the narrow loch and they’d seen not a soul, as if they were the only two people in all the world.
Divana chuckled to herself. The most exhilarating time of her life had been escaping with Kennan—especially sharing a pony with the brawny knight. She’d never forget how the heat from his body soothed her, protected her, made her feel as if someone in her life actually cared.
But this night she felt neither loved nor cared for. Kennan was off to Glasgow to see about his ship. True, he might come home for a sennight or two, but then he’d be away again, navigating seas unknown in his hunt for Jackson Vane, undertaking a dangerous pursuit of one of the most feared pirates in all of Christendom.