She hesitated, then read the worry in his eyes. For his friend? Or, for her safety? Gavina had stared at her when she mixed the healing paste, as if she had witnessed Haven dabbling in the dark arts.
“Follow me, my lady. Morning comes quickly in high summer. We must be on our way by the time the colors of dawn have been pushed aside by the sun.”
Before she could ask exactly where they were headed, and if she could go with them, he’d turned away. Alone near the campfire, she willed her body to abide by her new rule.
No men in my bed unless I experience true love.
Would Kirk send her on her way in the morning? More troubling than the possibility of abandonment, she’d miss his scent.
Hell, I’ll miss his muscles; the lilt in his voice; his barely restrained attention.
Kirk paused outside the most opulent tent in the camp. A banner flapped in the breeze, unreadable in the dark. Torches flickered, set into the ground.
“Ye may wash yerself, inside. Water and linen await ye.”
Haven cautiously swept the flap aside and stepped into the dark. Her fingers dipped in a rustic wooden bowl just inside the tent. She stepped from her mud-caked dress then washed what body parts she could reach with water without removing her chemise.
She spied Kirk through the partially opened tent flap. He waited outside with his back to her and arms crossed over his massive chest. He’d set aside most of his weapons when they sat down to eat, but carried a long dirk at his hip. He stood erect, his shoulders back and his head twisting side to side, watching everything.
Leader of men, she thought.
Off into the dark, a whistle sounded.
“What is that?”
Kirk’s voice echoed beyond the tent flap. “My guards keep each other informed of their location. No one will enter camp without our knowledge.”
“What a relief.”
“Are ye decent, lass?” he whispered.
“Yes. Why?” Haven stepped back as he entered the large, sturdy tent. He placed a torch near the bed, slamming the sharpened tip into the ground.
“Ye shall be safe. Sleep well,” he said with a slight bow.
“Goodnight. I look forward to getting on the road as soon as possible.” She watched his features for any indication he didn’t plan to take her with them. Kirk said nothing and walked toward the campfire. The pretty cook glared at him, then at Haven’s borrowed tent. Haven stepped back into the shadows. Why did the woman’s unabashed interest in Kirk make Haven’s stomach lurch?
More importantly, why do I hope he turns around and comes back?
She doused the torch, then crawled under the furs. Under the thick pile, she wallowed in their silkiness. Suddenly aroused, she twisted and turned, never enjoying more than a few minutes of fitful sleep. Powerful dreams assaulted her. The strangest included an odd, terrifying figure. His black flowing robe, boney features, long black hair, and sparkling red eyes ebbed and flowed, like the tides.
“The witch must bond with
The laird of mine enemy.
Death awaits should his claim
upon the lady of Ruadh be fulfilled.”
He can’t be talking about me. I’m no witch.
Strange images followed; something dark and sinister. Pain shot across Haven’s temples and she woke-up screaming. Haven’s senses whirled out of control; the acrid smell of a lit torch; the glint of steel; the weight of a body and a sword falling on her bed. Her body hummed when massive arms grabbed her then yanked her free of the covers.
“Haven? Are ye hurt?”
“What?”
“Ye screamed, lass.” Kirk’s tone softened.
Haven searched his face, a face too close not to touch. Her fingers swept over the ragged edge of his scar. He flinched.
“Does this hurt?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Why did ye scream?”
“Bad dream, I guess.” Should she share her dream? It seemed so real, and the man in the robe sounded so angry. “I’m a little shaky. Can you stay until I fall back asleep?”
Her voice trembled while her body shook. In the near darkness she sensed more than saw him nod before he joined her on the bed. Rolling her into his chest, he kissed her temple.
She sighed. She couldn’t help it. The man smelled better than money, better than champagne, better than chocolate. His hands swept over her, caressing her back, hip, breasts…
“Wait!” She arched her back, pulling away. She didn’t want this. Right? Why not? This man wasn’t Cal. He’d already given her more pleasure in one kiss than Cal Murchie ever did.
“Please. Let me soothe ye to sleep. I will not hurt ye, lass.”
Haven closed her eyes and relaxed every muscle. Tired of caving to the demands of men…well, to Cal…she’d allow Kirk’s touch, but she would not reciprocate. She deserved to feel good. Cal demanded she perform, yet he never aroused her with the passion Kirk’s lips on her forehead did.
She lay on her back as he trailed kisses down her throat to her breasts. He suckled a stiffening nipple through the light fabric of her chemise then moved further south. She formulated a protest, but before she found her voice he pulled the fabric up over her stomach.
“Kirk? You said—”
“I will not dishonor ye, lass. Only kisses shall touch ye there.”
Kisses? He plans to kiss me down there?
Haven’s body hummed as pure pleasure tingled over her skin wherever he pressed his lips. When he reached the naked skin below her navel, she arched into his mouth. She should fight against his intimate caress, but everything made her feel good.
Really good.
When he lightly stroked the curls between her legs, she opened wide to give him better access. Heat swirled in her womb as anticipation swooped down and made her body jerk. Lower and lower Kirk slid, kissing and stroking her flesh with his moist mouth and calloused fingertips.
“Calm yerself, love. ‘Tis easier to give ye pleasure when ye let yer body simply feel.”
Feel? If she felt anything more she’d explode. The moment his tongue licked the secret nub hidden beneath her curls, she did.
* * * * *
The heat of the morning sun rose as others prepared to break camp and take off toward the east. Haven ached for a bath. Her skin itched and limp curls lay plastered against the back of her neck. She stretched like a cat then peeked outside her tent. Crushed pine needles and the tang of horse droppings filled the air. Her body quivered, remembering how Kirk’s ministrations fulfilled her dreams about lovemaking.
If only that dream hadn’t ruined memories of a perfect night.
She’d had an ominous dream, or a vision of things to come, of a man wrapped in shadows. Tall and proud, he sliced the air with a huge sword. Unable to focus on his features, in that plane of existence between sleep and awakening, her body twisted as she stared at the taut line of his thighs; past knees and calves carved of rock-hard planes and angles; to the boulder below his feet where water swirled around him.
His lips were drawn into a thin line, his eyes unreadable. Her dream filled with the crumbling red walls of a castle in the distance. A presence stood on top of the corroding fortification. A woman. But someone else lingered near.
A shrouded figure reached for the woman, yet the man beside the sea looked reluctant to save her. Instead, he took a step toward Haven and lost his footing. In a heartbeat, the strong current sucked him beneath the waves.
Haven had awakened with a cry. She could still feel how her chest had heaved, seeking air. Perspiration dripped from her brow to sting her eyes as the fog that shrouded her sleepy brain slowly dissipated.
Turning back to the bed, she noticed the pile of folded muslin. She grabbed a plain, yellow dress from the pile and spied a lace-up brown suede bodice. A pale blue peasant shirt, with short, puffed sleeves, rounded out her new wardrobe.
Haven shimmied into the new, lighter gown and tied the laces with shaky fingers. Kirk had brought her to new heights of ple
asure. Now she understood what her friends had always snickered about. She now had more to discuss with Iona.
I’m still trembling.
Stepping into a new pair of kidskin slippers, she moaned her joy.
No more achy, bare feet.
She rummaged in the pockets of her discarded gown. Packets and vials fell to the ground. Grabbing them, she retrieved the chamomile petals and her dagger, then slipped them into the pockets of her new dress.
Haven glanced through the partially open tent flap. She had to hurry. After combing her fingers through her hair, she slipped the gold belt from her old gown and tied her unruly hair into a ponytail. Haven shook out the ruined gown then rolled it into a ball. Iona lent it to her, so she had to bring it home with her. Speaking of getting home…
Could she persuade Kirk to lend her a horse? She could steal a horse. But, what would she do with it once she reached civilization? How would Kirk and his men feel about her thievery after feeding her and lending her clothing?
All these possibilities made her head ache.
“My lady?”
Pushed from her mindless meanderings by the young, male voice, she answered, “I’m coming, Reid. Hold your horses.”
“I am standing here holding a pony I mean to lend ye. How did ye know?”
Haven slipped outside the tent with her bundle. The sun was barely peeking over the trees. Reid stood beside a small dust colored horse with a thick, black mane and matching tail.
“Psychic, I guess.”
Reid, though cute as a button, acted thick as a brick, then gave her a sly sideways glance. He’d covered the much smaller beast’s back with blankets.
“Kirk doesn’t want me to ride with him?”
“This I can only assume since he gave the order.”
“Fine by me,” she lied. The seat looked quite comfortable, though a fleeting memory of sitting between thighs of iron seized her with incredible longing. She gazed around camp. Most of the women had already mounted other small horses. The enticing smell of roast meat scented the breeze. Her stomach growled.
“Hungry?” Kirk asked.
He’d snuck up on her, again. A slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Reddish skin puckered around the jagged scar.
Funny how I’d forgotten all about his injured face.
His wet hair shimmered and he’d swept the damp locks over his shoulders. Sunlight turned his auburn tresses to gold. Tan shoulders, bare except for leather straps that crisscrossed his wide chest, hefted a large sword.
“Why are you always trying to feed me? Am I to be the fattened cow at the end of our journey?”
“I am honor-bound to treat all guests to the best of my ability. If ye hunger, I will feed ye. If ye thirst, I shall pour the ale. If ye be a’wanting better clothes, I shall sew.”
She giggled. The lighthearted sound spilled from her lips while she stood and stared at his beautiful face. She sensed he wanted to join in the reverie, but something dark passed over his eyes.
“Have ye not heard the tale of the Laird o’ Co’? The story inspires our children to show generosity with strangers, nearly to a fault.”
“Never heard of it. Tell me?”
He lifted her onto her mount and waited until she settled. He spun away then climbed onto the back of his massive war horse. The animal’s leg muscles flexed as it accepted Kirk’s weight. The horse stretched its neck and pulled at the reins. Kirk sat tall and straight then kicked the animal’s belly. He pulled beside her and continued the tale.
“A child came to the tower of the powerful Laird o’ Co, begging ale for his sick mother. The Laird ordered his servant to fill the child’s small cup. Half a barrel later, the servant failed to fill the cup. The servant protested opening a second barrel. The Laird ordered it to be so and the child’s pail filled with one more drop.”
“Sounds like a miracle. Or witchcraft.”
“Witchery, ye mean? Years later the Laird found himself imprisoned and slated for execution. The night before he would die, the doors deep inside the dungeon flew open and the child appeared. Now recognized as a full-grown dwarf, he spoke his magic words to release the Laird. Together, they made their escape. The dwarf told him one good turn deserves another and thanked him for being kind to his old mother.”
“See? Magic!” She smiled and spread her hands wide to the wind. Stray curls whipped around her cheeks.
Kirk nodded, smiled, then kicked his horse. He advanced to the front of the line. Her pony trotted forward and she joined the women. Kirk’s tale sounded very close to the golden rule and explained why he had helped her, fed her, and kept her safe.
“A romantic notion, to say the least, but not what I expected.”
“Ye wish for romance?” Kirk’s horse suddenly pulled beside her. Their thighs bumped and something inside her chest went thump.
“No, I simply liked how the story ended happily. I do appreciate your kindness. I promise to reciprocate by being civil. Ah, shouldn’t you be up front, oh mighty leader?”
Kirk laughed, a throaty sound that echoed in her bones. “We shall soon reach the castle at the end of our trek and ye shall be able to take a real bath. Do the clothes please ye?”
“Oh yes.”
“They are only a camp wench’s cast offs. On ye, they appear regal.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Where exactly is this Castle Ruadh?”
“Ye know of our destination?”
“Reid mentioned a red stone castle, but I’m sure he likes to play jokes on lost women. There aren’t any castles in New England. Well, maybe one or two castle-like mansions. Besides, I’ll follow you anywhere.”
A look crossed his face. His brow furrowed and he stared out to the east as if searching for someone. Haven bit her lower lip. Somehow, she’d crossed a line.
Again.
CHAPTER 14
Kirk considered why his foster son had volunteered to give up his steed to ride with the wagons. Such a sacrifice proved he had fallen under Lady Haven’s spell.
As have I.
Her hair was a tousled tail of black waves wrapped with a bit of gilt cloth. A few soft curls had escaped and danced about her rosy cheeks. The borrowed dress fit snuggly and displayed her generous curves to everyone’s view.
Kirk growled with displeasure when he realized he cared.
She held herself like a well-bred lady, yet had not demanded better clothes to replace her battered garments. Her blood-red gown and fine white lace trim had seen better days. He expected her to insist he offer something finer as fitting a lady.
Lady Haven convinced him without words that she lived the life of a lady of wealth and social graces. Had she fallen on hard times? Recalling her mentioning two men in her life, had either played a part in her downfall? Had they forced her from her home and sanctuary into the life of a camp whore?
No. She had refused his coins. Then again, no sane woman would share her body with a man so scarred.
She was not accustomed to unfiltered ale, such as Balfour’s brew, made with meadowsweet and bitter herbs.
I should have offered wine.
She’d eaten little of the stew and less of the sliced bannock then had blushed when she spotted a couple making love under the furs. He sensed her discomfiture at the open display of affection. Her innocent reaction certainly proved her origin among the gentility.
Kirk had not slept, last night. Concern filled his mind for her comfort, safety, and the way she made him feel. And feel, he did.
His cock hardened whenever he smelled her womanly fragrance. It twitched when he recalled the honey-sweet taste of her lips. It yearned to bury itself deep inside where his fingers reached, after he’d skimmed them across her silky skin.
Last night was a taste of heaven. She had melted in his arms, allowed him to kiss her until she peaked. Her whimpers and deep sighs had filled the tent’s dark space. He had slowly lowered her skirt, covered her with furs, and stole away, slipping from the tent like a guilty t
hief in the night.
Damnation.
Thoughts of his betrothed had surfaced, again.
Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Kirk set guards around their party. Several warriors scouted ahead while others guarded the treasure wagons at the rear. With Mackenzie and other mercenaries on the loose, they must stay vigilant.
Kirk’s destiny waited at the end of their journey. Lady Haven had no part in his future life. The peace treaty between the Keiths and his clan required a successful outcome or his personal sacrifice would be for naught.
The problem with my plan? I want Haven.
“Her continued presence threatens the very future of our clan,” Cameron said, suddenly beside him.
He growled his displeasure at his cousin’s sneaky approach. Kirk tightened his fingers around the reins of his mount. The clink of the saddle hitch and the animal’s snorts stilled his cousin’s tirade.
“Ye have startled my animal, cousin. Pray tell me why ye need to sneak up on a man and spout words I have already taken to heart?”
Seemingly distressed by his quick answer, Cameron glanced away.
“Be at ease, Cameron. My life stands in turmoil ever since I agreed to the betrothal. I can hear my ancestors laughing at me from above.”
“Why would anyone laugh at you?”
Kirk turned to find Haven looking up at him from the back of her pony. Again, someone drew near and he failed to notice. It was dangerous to let down one’s guard.
With the morning sun shining down, her angelic brilliance made him swallow. Eyes of the palest green ever seen had opened wide in wonder.
Or with laughter.
“No one dare laugh at me to my face, dear lady, but my forebears look down from the heavens from time to time and have a belly laugh at my expense. Let us say my future lies before me and I advance with trepidation. I, for one, would rather have stayed abed.”
“Your future? I can’t think past Fridays. That’s one of the reasons Cal and I broke up.”
“If the man cared for ye, he would look past such flaws,” he whispered. Without allowing her a chance to answer with another witty remark, he kicked his beast into a gallop.
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