He cleared his throat.
“My lord?” she whispered, close to his ear. She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her breast.
He jumped.
“Perhaps you do not miss your lady any longer?”
“I told ye. Lady Fia of Clan Keith is the love of my life. I will have her and I will kill all who stand in my way.”
“I have no allegiance to Kirkwall Gunn.”
“Oh? The times I watched the two of you, I saw what appeared to be a man in love. Were my eyes deceived?”
She pressed her lips together and urged her fingers not to scratch out his eyes. She forgot he said he’d spied on them.
“He gave me food, clean clothes, protection, and a horse. That’s all. Yes, his men made jokes about me using his tent and about his amorous advances, but I fought him off. He smelled,” she lied.
Lord Mackenzie’s smile brightened his face, yet his eyes glittered black. Did he recognize a lie? Had she jeopardized her chance to get away? He waved at the proprietor, then ordered a bath to be prepared in his room. He turned back to Haven and slipped off a black leather glove. Warm fingers cupped her chin.
Glaring at her, Haven fought the urge to blink. Did he mean to kiss her? She had to gain his confidence so, when he wavered, she pressed her lips to his. She forced her eyelids closed while she worked to find a way out of this mess.
Pressing her mouth against his less-than-eager lips, she feigned pleasure. Her hands, her moans, and her tongue went into overdrive. He kissed her back. For a man supposedly in love with another woman, he was enjoying himself.
“Do I kiss like a woman in love with Kirk?”
“No. Ye taste very sweet. Like fresh rain with a hint of honey, but not nearly as delectable as sweet Fia.”
Really? Her hands slid up and behind his neck. Her fictitious moans grew in volume. She pretended she kissed Kirk’s mouth. Pretending Kirk’s muscular arms surrounded her, she whimpered.
I’ll do anything to get through this.
Mackenzie pulled her close until she sat on his lap. Semi-hard evidence of his response to her kisses prodded her bottom. As she wiggled to show her enthusiasm, her mind worked to find the words to aid her escape. And save Kirk.
* * * * *
Fia had dressed in one of Rose’s oldest frocks and hid her golden braid under a shawl of rough gray wool. She hunched over as they walked toward freedom. Wearing muddy boots, she faltered under the weight of the large bundle on her back, tied closed with a black ribbon stolen from her dead mother’s trunk.
Her uncle had taken everything belonging to her and her parents, so she had stooped to stealing. She trudged along, three steps behind her maid. Fia stifled a giggle at the way Rose held her head high. Her maid wore the stylish traveling gown dug from the bottom of Fia’s trunk.
Since her parent’s deaths, she rarely traveled. The last trip outside these walls had been to a fair on the day of Beltane. Fia had met her true love, as well as the man her uncle demanded she marry.
Too bad they are two very different men.
She sighed. Rose coughed, and Fia’s attention snapped back to the present. The gown her servant had borrowed made the woman look older and of good family. Its blue overdress shimmered under the light from the castle’s torches. Pale skin peeked below the hem as she walked. Swathed in slippers of fine pale brown doeskin, Rose’s feet tapped along the stone hallway. Rose’s braided hair was swept back into an elegant bun.
They walked brazenly down the stairs, across the bailey, and then through the castle gates. Rose nodded at the guards, who ignored both women, so they continued down the busy lane.
“We did it,” whispered Rose, the moment they crossed the bridge. Puddles filled with stagnant, foul-smelling water gave way to a wide, dirt lane. They walked in companionable silence through the village.
“We must keep quiet,” whispered Fia, “at least until we are farther away. Uncle’s spies are everywhere. The man is suspicious of everything. I shall be glad to be away from this place.”
“As I am, dear lady.”
The two women made their way past several small cottages, their windows lit by evening braziers or cooking fires. The far edge of the village loomed ahead. They planned to search for a caravan of merchant wagons, or a boat captain readying to set sail.
All plans hinged on them leaving tonight or early the next morning, before her guardian learned of her escape. With a full coin pouch and a hidden bag of loose jewels she’d purloined from her uncle, Fia prayed luck would shield them with kindness this night.
The walk to town proved uneventful. Gossip from the kitchen warned of dark alleys and bands of mercenaries. Rose had eavesdropped, then shared her acquired knowledge with Fia. Such ruffians would make quick work of two women traveling alone.
Fia thought more of her uncle’s decision to marry her off to a stranger from the upper Highlands. The unexplained death of her parents had torn their people into two camps. Her wedding to a warrior clan was destined to band them together, again.
“I will not be used, thusly,” she said, quietly.
“If ye speak of yer marriage contract, I understand completely, my lady,” Rose said as they approached the largest pub on the street.
“Do ye believe this is the place we shall find our savior?” Fia paused, then stopped Rose with a gentle touch of a hand on her maid’s arm. “And please do not address me so. Call me Julia.” Julia had been her mother’s name. Rose had loved her as well.
Nodding her acknowledgment, Rose hesitated as a man left the pub. He bowed with a slight bend at the waist then held open the door. The two women entered. Fia gasped at the smell.
Rose gripped her by the forearm. “I am used to this sort of place, of sour food and dirty floors. Take slow breaths, or ye shall be found out. Breathe through yer scarf.”
Fia nodded, but the odor of sweaty bodies crammed into a small, airless room nearly brought her to her knees. She followed Rose to the counter at the side of the large, dark dining hall that divided the kitchens from the patrons.
Rose flashed a smile at the rotund proprietor and began her inquiries. Fia listened. The innkeeper ought to be on familiar terms with travelers and merchants. She prayed he would make introductions.
Her stomach growled. The man swung his attention toward her, but Rose leaned forward, until his gaze landed on the tops of her breasts.
“Pay no heed to my maid. She eats sparingly while her work piles up then complains she is hungry.” Rose’s attentive glare, high-pitched laugh, and low-cut bodice grabbed the man’s attention. Their conversation gave Fia the chance to peer into the smoke-filled room.
Now that freedom was at hand, she was ravenous. She stepped closer to tables filled with men of all shapes and sizes. Fia wanted to get a feel for the freedom these poor peasants enjoyed while her uncle had sequestered her inside the keep. Her perusal focused on a couple at the rear of the pub. Embraced by shadows, with twin, black heads close together, their arms and bodies were tangled in an amorous embrace.
Her own body tingled with sexual yearning. Heat bloomed beneath her cheeks. Fia had never been touched in such a manner in all her nineteen years. Fia’s body ignited in a similar way each time she thought of Mackenzie’s sweet kisses. She spent sleepless nights wondering how his hands might feel as they caressed her neck, her arms.
Her breasts.
A serving girl carrying steaming platters of food entered from the kitchen, the girl’s nipples all but visible above the low-cut bodice. Fia gasped.
“Julia, we shall sit at that table.” Rose pointed to an empty corner, which would bring them close to the amorous couple.
“We shall partake of food and wine while we chat,” said Rose with an air of dignity. Her maid’s words nearly fooled even her. As they meandered toward their table, a man reached out and pinched Fia’s rear.
If only Marcas Mackenzie touched me that way.
She chuckled at the thought. The black haired man, still wrapped in
the raven-haired woman’s arms, his lips pressed against hers, looked up. His startled gaze widened and locked on Fia.
“Lord Mackenzie!”
CHAPTER 21
Fia’s exclamation of surprise was too loud for someone posing as a lowly servant. Mackenzie pushed aside the black-haired woman, spilling a tankard of ale into her lap. While she mopped the mess, conversations quieted.
Hinges squeaked as the serving wench entered from the kitchen. She paused mid-stride. Creaking footsteps on the stair stopped mid-step. A glass tinkled as it shattered on the wood floor behind the counter.
Pulling her scarf across her head, Fia slipped behind Rose. Rose, God love her, repeated her words, as if she had been the speaker.
“Lord Mackenzie. Nice to see ye again, sir. I am Lady Rose and this is my maid, Julia. Remember us?”
Fia peeked. From the furrowed brow and stern expression on Marcas’ face, Fia knew their secret was out. Luckily, he appeared to be the only patron aware of their masquerade.
The others returned to their drinks and their stories. Oblivious to the tension bubbling up between Fia and Mackenzie, the black-haired woman turned and plastered a less than happy smile on her face.
“Lord Mackenzie, may I go wash up while you reminisce with these ladies?” The woman’s ale-drenched dress looked uncomfortable.
When he turned away from Fia and locked eyes with the woman, Fia noted the flush of his cheeks, as if surprised by her request. Marcas pulled aside a passing servant girl and whispered in her ear. She pointed to a side door.
“There’s an indoor privy through that door. Five minutes, no more, or I shall personally come in to assist ye.”
Fia bristled at his sneer, and at his insistence the woman hasten back.
The bastard wanted her back in his lap. What did I ever see in him?
Marcas cocked his crooked grin at the other woman as she slipped from the bench. Fia remembered falling in love with that grin. She could still taste the chaste kiss she had shared with him. He had barely touched her lips. Marcas had acted like a gentleman. That fact stunned her. Did she want him to treat her differently? Surely such thoughts were unbecoming a Scottish lady of substance.
Before she could turn away, Marcas’ warm hand grasped her wrist. Without his usual gloved touch, her skin heated beneath his strong fingers and her womanly center throbbed. She barely noticed a pub filled with villagers bent on celebrating the coming wedding of their laird’s niece.
“Word of the arrival of the bridegroom has leaked, I see,” Lord Mackenzie said. He stood then bowed. “Join us?”
Rose nodded and moved to sit. Fia slid beside Lord Marcas into the only other open spot.
“Julia,” he sneered while pronouncing each syllable with slow determination, as if testing the name. “Funny, I knew this face under a different name.”
Fia swallowed. Marcas stared at her as if she still held the title of his beloved. A definite lie, since he had replaced her with a more amorous morsel. Fia locked her gaze on his bearded face. His gray eyes, the color of smoke on a clear day, flashed. They smoldered with near-combustive heat. Fia’s body erupted with molten heat, from her dry mouth to her tingling toes. When she feared red stained her cheeks, she drew her shawl closer around her face.
“Ye have made a miscalculation, my lord. I am no one of consequence. That is obvious in yer total disregard of my feelings. Since I am forgotten, I will trouble ye no more.”
“Ye have not been forgotten, my love.”
“Ha!” Her scarf fluttered aside. Her back snapped straight, and she glared at his smug expression. “After many months with no word, a woman must find her own way, especially when she witnesses her beloved taking comfort in the arms of another. Do ye not agree?”
Lord Mackenzie’s shoulders rose and fell with a nonchalance that made her heart shatter into tiny pieces. Her lungs burned with breaths stalled by indecision.
Here sits the man of my dreams with lips still wet from kissing another.
“Here sits the woman of my dreams who has chosen to hide under clothes below her station and tell tales as if she had forgotten her promise. How fickle.”
Fia’s gasp caused many patrons to glance their way.
“Tell me, did ye wait a whole week or did ye become engaged the moment I lost my fortune?”
Rose did her best to break into the conversation.
Marcas kept speaking. “A woman of yer character, naïve in the ways of the world, might seek comfort where danger lurks.”
“Yes,” she whispered so only he and Rose could hear, “ye appeared in danger of being kissed unto death.”
“The woman who kissed me is a pawn on a chess board. She is more worthy of yer consideration than ye understand. She serves a purpose.”
“I know what purpose she serves.”
“She is Kirkwall Gunn’s whore.”
The biggest reason why she wanted nothing to do with marriage hit her, and her cheeks burned brighter with indignation. The whore had the audacity to take both Kirkwall and Marcas to her bed and leave her with nothing.
“I hope ye two shall be happy.”
“As I hope ye and the Highlander shall be happy.”
“That marriage shall not take place,” Rose said, interrupting their poisonous banter.
His blank look startled her. Then he jumped to his feet. Her heart thumped beneath her coarse woolen frock. “Explain.”
Fia jumped when he slammed his fist on the wood table and another tankard of ale fell. She stared at the dark brew, dripping onto the floor, and considered the right words in response. Words to bring his love back under her spell.
* * * * *
Marcas could not move. An urge to bolt and put distance between the woman and his heart felt out of the ordinary. He balanced on the balls of his feet. His clenched fists loosened, and he calmed his lust to keep him from gathering Fia into his arms. He longed to settle in one place and make a home with her.
“The hopeless state of my situation left no door open to me. Until now,” he said.
Her breath caught. “Until now?”
“I told ye the truth of this the night we kissed for the last time. I told ye how my father blamed me for the accidental death of my older brother.”
“I remember.”
“My father disowned me. My lands were forfeited.” He laughed. Fia’s eyes were suddenly pain-filled, her body tense. “I, as next in line, would have become laird upon my father’s death. Banished from the upper Highlands means I shall never be able to marry a lady such as you.”
“I do not care if ye be penniless,” Fia whispered.
Her soft voice rushed over him in a wave of mind-numbing joy. He tamped down his body’s reaction, shifting his stance. Lady Fia and the memory of their sensual, stolen kisses had kept him chaste, these past months.
“I care,” squawked the woman by Lady Fia’s side, dressed in a fine gown he recognized as the one Fia wore the last time they kissed.
The months since his banishment had turned him bitter. When his luck had changed, and he knew he could never earn her hand in marriage, Marcas had sworn to kill any man who tried to wed her. He set out to gain back his fortune, lands, and title then seek out her family. When word of her pending marriage had crushed all hope, he had sworn vengeance against the man who dared to claim her body and her love.
“I cannot excuse my actions while I sit and drown my sorrows in tankards of warm ale.”
“Within the arms of a pretty whore?”
“She practices witchery, and has put me under her spell. She denies the Gunn laird means anything to her, but he has fallen for the wench, so I stole her away from under his nose.”
“Ye fool! If he loves this woman, he will not want to marry me. Give her back at once!”
“But, the treaty.”
“With no bride waiting for him at Castle Ruadh, he will not lose face. My uncle, on the other hand, will have my hide if he finds me.”
“He already has all y
e own,” he whispered, resuming his seat. He saw little sense to bring more attention to their conversation.
“Is this the reason ye have forsaken me?” Pain filled her face and the sparkle of tears filled her eyes. Fia sank back against the wooden wall while Lady Rose, her companion, stroked her shoulder.
“Why have ye exchanged clothes?” His band of mercenaries walked in, threw him curious glances, and settled into chairs near the entrance. He watched them while he waited for her answer.
“My uncle posted guards everywhere. I cannot leave the keep. Rose and I seek transportation in order to leave this part of Scotland. We shall find our fortunes elsewhere.”
“Yer maid is fine with this adventure?”
“I have granted Rose her freedom, but she insists on accompanying me.”
The gratitude in Fia’s eyes for her maid warmed his heart. Marcas wished she held him in such regard. “Yer uncle is behind this marriage?”
“He said he looked far and wide for a suitable mate for me, his only niece. For some reason, eligible bachelors in this area have mysteriously disappeared. I fear he wanted to find a reason to bind me to the barbarians of Clan Gunn. Their much-feared warriors have agreed to the bride price. I met Kirkwall at the fair where ye and I first met. Did ye know?”
“I did, my lady. I still recall yer taste.”
She smiled.
Lady Rose gasped.
His world brightened as hope flashed across his chest straight to his cock.
“May I ask why I never heard from ye after we kissed?” Fia asked, her voice wavering. He prayed she did not cry. He wanted no attention thrown her way.
“I sent missives to ye numerous times with ne’er a reply. I attempted to enter the keep one day. Once my bruised body had mended,” he paused at her gasp of surprise, “I realized ye had toyed with my affections. ‘Twas I mislead?”
“Ye fool!”
Her outburst roused the men who drank and sang at the table to the right. He flashed them a sneer and turned back to Lady Fia. She owed him an explanation.
“No letters did I receive. When my uncle forced me to accept a betrothal to the barbarian, I cursed yer name every day.” Fia touched his vest, directly over his heart, with her petite hands, “Are ye telling me ye still want me, Marcas?”
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