The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series)

by Caine, Carmen

He winked and gave her his characteristic smile. “I’m always happy to lend an ear, lass. Ye look as if your lips have words to say.”

  “Nay, not truly, I suppose …” She trailed off slowly.

  They stood in a companionable silence, staring at the moors and gentle hills spreading out before them.

  A strong wave of longing rolled over Merry.

  She missed Skye.

  “I suppose I’m pining just a wee bit for home,” she admitted in a soft whisper, surprising herself at speaking it aloud. But then, Alec’s presence had a comforting effect upon her, a relaxing one. So, she let the words tumble out. “I would see the mists creeping up from the bogs, and the burns flowing down to the sea. Aye, and I miss the perfume of bog myrtle, and riding Diabhul on the yellow coral beaches. I even miss the wailing cries of the gulls surfing the winds over the Maidens…” Her throat swelled with yearning, and she couldn’t speak.

  Alec stood close. She could feel his eyes upon her. And then, he noted quietly, “Skye. You’re from Skye.”

  His voice held a husky note, and Merry glanced up sharply.

  There was no denying it. His green eyes looked down upon her with desire.

  Strangely, she didn’t move back.

  Their eyes caught and held and then, lowering his head, he murmured into her ear, “Tell me, what is your name?”

  She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Shaking her head, she took a step back. “Nay, Alec.”

  She wasn’t really sure if she meant “nay” to his request or rather to ward off the ardent intention he seemed to have.

  Maybe both. Maybe not.

  “Why are ye so loath to reveal your name?” he asked, turning his back to the stones to lean upon them and fold his arms.

  She hesitated. Why, indeed?

  At first, it had been because of Ewan. But now, she just wanted to ride home to Skye, to forget her adventure altogether. She wanted to forget all of them. She wanted to simply walk away.

  And then mayhap she could forget the pain as well, the pain of knowing that Ewan would soon spend his days in the arms of another woman.

  “Can ye not tell me?” Alec interrupted her thoughts in a gentle tone.

  She averted her gaze and swallowed. “I dinna want ye to find me, Alec,” she answered truthfully. “I dinna want to remember any of this. I canna stay here, not anymore.” She clenched her jaw, refusing to let tears fall.

  A long silence stretched between them.

  Finally, Alec cleared his throat. “I dinna see how Ewan will carry through with it, lass,” he said in a low voice. “Have ye told him how ye feel?”

  Tell him? Tell him that she’d fallen under the spell of love?

  Astonished and a bit ashamed, she scowled up at Alec. “There’s naught to say, Alec Montgomery. He’ll be a married man soon enough. And whatever ‘tis ye think ye know, keep that tongue of yours behind your teeth!”

  At that, he flashed a wide grin.

  And then she moved as if to leave, but he caught her by the shoulders and twirled her around to face him.

  “Ewan’s not the only man to walk the Earth,” he said in a light tone. “Some say that I’m a braw man in my own right.” His green eyes twinkled a little.

  Merry held still.

  It was true. Alec had his own appeal, and it was plain to see just how he could captivate a woman so. He was a handsome man with eyes the color of emeralds and the hint of a cleft on his chin. Moreover, he was a brave man, with a warm and humorous nature. There was no doubt that he could make many a lass giddy with desire.

  Mayhap even herself, if she hadn’t met Ewan first.

  She placed a hand on his chest, intending to push him away, but he seized her fingers and held them tightly, obviously reluctant to release them.

  “Alec, ye do have a way of creeping into a woman’s heart,” she confessed in a hoarse whisper. “But—”

  He silenced her by placing a finger upon her lips. “But,” he repeated the word. “I dinna care for that word, lass. Not if that’s your way of telling me we dinna suit one another.”

  “A man like ye is worthy of more—” Merry began.

  But he didn’t let her finish.

  She knew he intended to kiss her, and she knew she was going to let him, simply to see what kissing him would be like.

  Would the touch of his lips set her soul on fire?

  He pulled her close and, searching her eyes, slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

  It was a nice kiss, but it clearly lacked the thrill of desire. There was no rush of heated flame, only a tiny spark at most.

  Alec lifted his head and, reading her expression, a look of disappointment crossed his face.

  A wave of remorse swept through her. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Ach, why had she let him kiss her? Especially since deep inside, she’d known all along that the only man she really wanted to kiss was Ewan MacLean.

  Perplexed and a bit confused with herself, she turned away only to freeze in shock.

  Ewan stood tall behind them, his feet planted in a wide stance and his arms crossed over his broad chest. Dark lashes hooded his blue eyes, eyes that skewered Alec’s.

  He didn’t move, save for his blond hair blowing lightly in the breeze.

  And then, Merry fled.

  With a pounding heart, she ran down the spiraled staircase, criticizing herself aloud, “Do ye lack common sense, ye fool? Ye aren’t one to simply run away! Ach, what have ye done? Just what have ye done?”

  Reaching the last step, she barreled around the corner, colliding directly into a woman passing by and nearly knocking her over.

  A flash of red hair, the scent of lavender, and Merry’s heart sank, knowing immediately who it was.

  “You’re naught but a constant thorn in my side!” Iona’s voice shrilled in her ear.

  Latching onto Merry’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip, Iona yanked her across the corridor and into a nearby chamber. It was empty save for a roughhewn bench under an open window.

  There was a hint of a chill draft in the room, but it wasn't the chill that made Merry shiver. It was the look in Iona's eyes.

  “Forgive me—” Merry began.

  But Iona shushed her with an impatient hand. “Ye be an ungainly lanky lad, Moridac,” she said with a thin smile full of malice. “Right plain, ye are!”

  Merry watched her with a guarded eye. “Is that all ye have to say to me?” she asked the woman bluntly.

  Iona stood there, twisting her slender fingers in agitation. And then, without warning, she reached over and ripped Merry’s shirt, tearing it open enough to reveal the bandage covering her breasts.

  Merry stared, aghast, and then instinctively lifted her hand and delivered a sharp thwack across Iona’s cheek.

  Iona gasped, shocked. “Have ye no shame?” Her pitch rose.

  “Ach, but I’ve had enough of ye, ye shrew!” Merry retorted, slightly rattled as she towered over the woman. “Ye may be a lady, but ye are right lacking in manners!” She gathered the shreds of her torn shirt together, upset and angry.

  The day was worsening by the moment.

  “Is parading about as a lad some sick fancy of yours?” A shrill note of disdain joined the rage in Iona’s voice. Two spots of color stained her cheeks. “Do ye seek to ensnare Ewan with your beguiling, deceitful ways? Or are ye already his whore? I’ll not have your kind here, under my roof!”

  “I’m nothing of the sort!” Merry snapped in reply. “I owed Ewan a debt, and I repaid it. ‘Tis all!”

  Iona stared, her breasts rising and falling. And then her eyes swept Merry up and down, haughtily. “Aye, I believe ye. You’re certainly nothing a man of his consequence and stature would want in his bed.”

  Merry swallowed, ignoring the warmth traveling up her neck. The comment stung, more than she cared to admit.

  Iona’s lips curved in satisfaction. “Aye, ye aren’t much of a woman. Your hair … your skin. Coarse and dull, the both of them.” She smiled, but it was
a cold, heartless smile.

  “I’ll not stay here to simply listen to ye hurling insults, Iona,” Merry warned in a restrained undertone. “Do ye have aught else of any value to say?”

  Iona’s chin trembled with anger and then fumbling in the folds of her gown, she pulled out a small leather bag and tossed it at Merry’s feet.

  It landed with the unmistakable clink of coin.

  Merry wrinkled her nose in disgust. “And what are ye paying me to do?” she practically growled.

  “Leave. At once. I’ll not have it said that Ewan openly feasted in my hall with his lover,” Iona said, surveying her with hatred in her eyes. “Leave afore others discover who ye truly are. Ewan holds a reputation unblemished. I’ll not have ye stain his name.”

  Merry’s face registered disbelief, and a bitter laugh escaped her lips. Only moments ago, she’d wanted to leave. Now, she felt quite the opposite.

  Stooping, she picked the pouch up and turned it over in her hands. “I have no claim on Ewan,” she said truthfully. “Ye’ve naught to fear from me.” She extended her hand and offered the pouch back.

  Iona gave a scornful laugh. “Ye misunderstand greatly,” she hissed contemptuously. “Only a fool would believe Ewan could be tempted by ye. I know I’ve nothing to fear from ye. But unfortunately, the land is overrun with fools and they might—”

  “Pray, spare yourself the trouble of speaking any more,” Merry interrupted, dropping the pouch back onto the floor. Deciding she was finished with the woman, she added, “I’ll leave now, afore I’m tempted to knock some sense into your head. Dinna think to speak with me again."

  And with that, she fumbled with the latch and opened the door.

  “A pox on ye!” Iona shouted after her. “I curse the day I first saw your face!”

  Rolling her eyes, Merry strode away.

  Her anger carried her swiftly out of the castle.

  The clouds had thickened since the few short minutes that she’d abandoned the ramparts. A few scattered raindrops fell onto the courtyard stones as she headed toward the stables, and she was scarcely inside before thick drops pelted down from above.

  She didn’t mind.

  The stables were a far more relaxing place than the castle, by far, and she found the mere scent of horses soothing. Taking little care to hide her foul mood, she stomped toward Diabhul’s stall, but by the time she’d reached it, her anger had begun to abate.

  Alec was right. Iona was an ill-tempered beastie. And even though her behavior was venomously hateful, the woman was within her rights.

  Ewan was—as much as Merry was loath to admit it—her betrothed.

  “Ach, I was wrong, I suppose, and I shouldna hold it against the hussy,” she muttered under her breath only to experience a twinge of conscience over naming the woman as such.

  Iona was a properly betrothed lady, though a spiteful one. She was far from a hussy.

  Pushing Diabhul’s stall open with an exaggerated shove of her hip, Merry stepped inside and rested her head against the stallion’s broad, black face.

  “Ach, what’s come over me, Diabhul?” she murmured into his ears. “Am I turning into a harridan myself? How can I blame the woman, aye? His chest of stone just beckoned to be touched … and his eyes would enthrall any lass, aye?”

  Diabhul gently nudged her shoulder.

  “Ye agree?” Merry asked with a wry grin.

  And then Iona’s hateful words echoed in her head. You’re certainly nothing a man of his consequence and stature would want in his bed.

  Merry’s mood darkened at once.

  “And what man would want ye in his bed?” She snorted, blowing her hair out of her face. Wrinkling her nose in disdain, she lifted her chin and began to prance about the stall, mimicking Iona’s mincing steps. “Ach, she rightly deserved that slap on the cheek and more besides.”

  And then stomping around Diabhul’s large black rump, she drew up short as she came face-to-face with Ewan.

  Merry froze in horror.

  He lounged against the wall in his white shirt and dark breeches, looking incredibly handsome. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and there appeared to be a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

  “And just whom did ye slap on the cheek, Merry?” he asked in a voice that held a distinct trace of laughter in it.

  Merry blinked, flooding with humiliation as she racked her brain, replaying her fit of pique. Just what had she said? Had she spoken loud enough for him to hear?

  Ach, just what had he heard?

  But with her brows drawn in a straight line, she snapped, “Mind your own affairs, Ewan.”

  His only response was a raised brow. He merely stood there, studying her face in a way that she couldn’t interpret.

  But then she recalled Alec’s kiss and, suddenly ashamed over the entire mess, she cast her eyes down to her feet.

  “Ach, I’m a mean-spirited lass,” she confessed, heaving a loud sigh. “Aye, I let Alec kiss me. And I slapped Iona, and I’m sorry for it.” That wasn’t quite truthful, so she added, “A wee bit sorry. Someday, I hope to be as contrite as I should be.”

  “For slapping Iona?” he asked, and then his voice deepened. “Or for kissing Alec?”

  She glanced up at him sharply.

  His keen blue eyes impaled hers, and there was little light-hearted about him now.

  She swallowed. The last thing she wanted to discuss with him was love and desire. Nay, not with Ewan. ‘Twas too painful. Not when she craved the touch of his hand.

  “And why are ye lurking about here at this hour?” she asked instead, deliberately steering the subject away from kisses.

  His eyes bored into hers for several long moments, almost as if he were reading her soul, but then his mood appeared to lighten once again, and he nodded toward the black stallion snuffling through the straw on the floor in search of bits of hay.

  “I knew ye’d come to Diabhul soon enough,” Ewan answered, cocking a brow at her. “And I sought to make peace with the princess while I waited to speak with ye.”

  Merry swallowed. The soft burr of his voice made her shiver. A little rattled, she repeated, “Princess?” Ach, why had she asked? She knew full well he meant the horse. Why was she suddenly so nervous?

  He sent her a calm smile and then nodded at the stallion with a mischievous glint in his eye. Addressed the beast in a teasing tone, he asked, “And how do ye fare this day, Princess? Have ye dined well?”

  Shoving himself from the wall, he stretched and flexed his arms.

  Merry lowered her lashes, watching his muscles ripple as he extended his hand toward the stallion’s head.

  Diabhul lifted his head and twitched his ears his direction. And then without warning, lunged to nip him, but Ewan was too quick and easily sidestepped the beast in one lithe step.

  “Aye, my lady,” his voice rumbled even deeper. “But soon enough, ye’ll let me ride ye again.” He turned then and looked straight down into Merry’s eyes.

  He was standing only inches away, and his very nearness made her dizzy.

  All at once, the stall seemed disturbingly intimate and uncomfortably warm.

  Ewan was a large and formidable man, towering over her and radiating a deep strength. Suddenly, a wave of desire danced over her, revealing that her feelings for him had, if anything, only intensified.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to remind herself that he was a betrothed man.

  Disgusted with herself, she turned away.

  But his strong hands seized her by the shoulders and spun her around.

  For a moment, she lost her balance and fell against him. Again, she could only note that the sheer size of him was intimidating in the most delightful way, as was the hard, chiseled contours of his chest under her palms.

  But righting herself, she drew back. Or would have, had his strong fingers not locked upon her shoulders.

  “Do ye harbor hopes in Alec’s direction?” he asked directly, his piercing eyes searching hers.


  Merry drew a strident breath, struggling to combat the temptation of his nearness. Clearing her throat, she answered, “The only hope I harbor is to leave this place and go home, Ewan. I wish to be as far away from this place as I can. And from ye, too.”

  She tried to wrench her shoulders free, but he would not let her go.

  “Do ye love him, Merry?” he asked gently.

  She could only stare at him. How could he ask her that? Did he truly not know how she felt? And what good was that, anyway, when he was promised to another woman?

  Clenching her jaw, she countered with poor grace, “And what right do ye have to ask of me whom I love?”

  They stood there in the stall, silent, until she found his nearness and the heat of his skin simply too much to bear. Aye, there was no doubt where her heart truly lay and wanting to touch him only got worse with each passing moment.

  Twisting her shoulder, she abruptly broke free of his grip and whirled away. “I want to go home,” she said. “Mayhap, I should ride onward to Stirling. Ruan’s bound to be truly fretting.”

  He closed the distance between them with a single stride and caught her firmly from behind, encircling her waist with his arm.

  Merry snapped her mouth shut. It was impossible to concentrate with her back pressed against his hard chest. She could feel every inch of him.

  “I’ve sent him word,” he said then, his hot breath against her cheek sending shivers down her spine. “I’ve told him that I’ll be keeping ye in my care.”

  Her brows yanked up, and her eyes flashed. “Have ye now? And what gives ye the right?” she asked, trying to break free, but his arm was impossible to budge.

  She gave his arm a few half-hearted slaps out of pure principle, but each slap lessened as she became aware of just how warm his skin was beneath her fingers. And by the fourth attempt, she simply gave into her impulses and trailed a finger along the veins flowing over the muscles in his arms.

  He tensed then. She knew she should stop tracing her finger over his skin, but she didn’t. Yearning flooded through her, a longing so intense that she didn’t care what he thought of her anymore.

  She wanted to touch and kiss him with every fiber of her being. And closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and melted against him, intending to savor the moment as long as she could before he got the chance to politely step away and inform her that he was soon to be a married man.