by Diane Darcy
“I’m sharing, aren’t I?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The words came out breathless and she wished she had the nerve to scoot even closer. Her hands tingled against his.
He released one hand and, when he touched her cheek, she started.
“Shh. Shh.”
She smiled. She’d heard him use that same soothing sound on his horse earlier.
His thumb feathered over her curving lips, and her breaths shallowed. The sizzling, electric sensation of his skin against hers had her smile falling away, and her lips softening under his warm touch. In a swift move, he gathered her in both arms, pulled her close, and kissed her softly, his lips brushing over hers, back and forth, as pleasure rushed through her entire body. As if testing her response, he teased her with more light kisses, then his lips claimed hers more forcefully, his mouth scorching her sensitive lips, the heady awareness of him pulling a moan from her.
He let her go as quickly as he’d grabbed her, leaving her feeling immediately bereft and trying to catch her breath.
Breathing harshly, he lay back. After a few moments he reached for her hands in the darkness once more. “Go to sleep,” he said, his hands gripping hers a bit too tightly.
She squeezed back, heart still pounding. Go to sleep? All she could think was, more, please, so she doubted sleep was going to happen anytime soon. “Ian?”
“Aye?”
“I’m not cold anymore.”
He chuckled softly. “Neither am I, lass. Neither am I.”
Chapter Fifteen
After another day of hard travel they set up camp once again, this time outside Stirling Castle at the edge of an improvised tent city. Some of his men unpacked while others cleared rocks off the hard ground and into a circle for a cooking fire. Others positioned tents or cared for the horses.
Ian glanced around the makeshift companies spreading into the distance. Set in the shadow of Stirling’s highest wall, it was a good turnout. Ian greeted men he recognized, noting the locations of vendors and their wares.
He’d try and see the king after they’d settled; else they might be setting up in the dark. Fortunately, the weather was much improved and, now that they’d arrived, Ian felt better about attending, the old familiar excitement rising up.
The sights and smells were familiar and welcome. Buyers and sellers gathered, merchants having displayed their wares in tents, their determined calls attracting customers. Laughter and merry-making rang throughout and voices sang in the distance, as well as the nearby sound of an archery competition.
Further away, swords clashed, no doubt men readying for tomorrow’s fights. The smells of cooking, horses, smoke from numerous fires, was all familiar and pleasing. As soon as they were settled, he’d rid himself of the crown, then fetch Samantha and take her about. They might find a place to dance, or perhaps he’d purchase a trinket for her pleasure.
He realized he was smiling, lighthearted, and knew exactly who to blame.
He found his gaze wandering to Samantha as she carried blankets inside the tent. He’d held her hand long after she’d fallen asleep, reliving the pleasure of her mouth against his, wishing he dared kiss her again, alternately glad for Dugald’s presence and cursing it. Perhaps if he could have held her close the night through...his breath left him. ’Twould not have been enough. Once she was in his arms, he was like to keep her there.
A stab of uncertainty wound its way into his thoughts. How did she feel about him? Who was she truly? How had she known where he’d hidden the crown? He’d never give it to her, but if he did, where would she go in truth? Was this male friend she spoke of more than a friend to her? A lover? A husband? Was he waiting for her to retrieve it and meet up with him again?
Ian realized he clenched his fists and ground his teeth. He exhaled a sharp breath as she appeared once more, the evening sunlight catching her darkened hair to reveal the berry hue which did seem most unnatural, but still, pretty on her. He didn’t think the color would be enough to frighten anyone. More like the women would be rushing about to find berries to do the same to their own.
He glanced around for Dugald to make sure the man kept watch over the crown—where had he gone?—and a momentary panic rushed through him. Then Dugald rounded a tent, bundle in hand, directing the lads in their work.
Ian clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. Once the crown was no longer his responsibility, he’d show his lady some entertainment, and mayhap charm answers from her lips.
His lady.
He liked the thought of it—of her—and wondered if they might have a forthright conversation. He wished her to give up this fantasy she spun, admit who she was, what she wanted, and mayhap see if there might be more between them. For his part, he admitted his feelings for her grew daily. She fascinated him. Beguiled him. Looked upon him with longing, favor, and affection. And what that did to him—turning him inside out, making him wish for more. If it turned out he was bewitched, he decided he did not care. All he desired at this point was to—
“Laird MacGregor.” A booming voice roared across the camp.
Ian, and everyone else, turned to see Laird Campbell, grinning like a fool, weaving his way toward him—and behind him, the man who’d bellowed Ian’s name.
Lord Kellen Marshall, his face alight with zeal, his eyes burning with satisfaction.
Ian’s stomach sank. He forced himself to remain relaxed, to show no emotion, but he had to admit to surprise. What was Marshall doing here so far from the border? Even as he thought it, the answer arrived. He’d come hoping to find Ian. To confront him. To exact vengeance for Ian’s proposal of marriage to his lady fair.
Ian truly did not need this right now. But perhaps he oughtn't to have kidnapped the man’s betrothed—and then proposed to her. But how was he to know it had been a love match? The girl herself had cast doubts upon it, and until Lord Marshall had shown, fierce and unforgiving, Ian had thought perhaps he wouldn’t mind if Ian took the girl off his hands. Ian had not reached for the girl’s dower, but the girl herself.
The story had gone about all summer and everyone knew of the incident and also knew the man wanted revenge. With Lord Marshall here, it wasn’t like he could avoid the confrontation, but perhaps he could put the man off? His lips twisted. Oh, aye. He could explain he was busy with other, more important concerns. That was sure to go over well.
One matter was certain, he didn’t wish Marshall learning of Samantha and exacting a like retaliation.
He’d quickly rid himself of the man, in any way he could. Perhaps even pacify him. Ian didn’t need the aggravation. He needed to deal with the crown, the king, and the fact that Samantha wanted it, and now had far easier access. It definitely made the task more urgent. He waved one of the lads over. “Go. Learn where the king stays this night.”
The boy, a squire of fifteen, took off, excitement showing upon his face.
Lord Marshall, as tall as Ian, as thick with muscle, stopped in front of him, a mixture of aggression and satisfaction in his irksome countenance. “I told you I would find the chance to pay you in kind.”
~~~
Ian couldn’t help it, he smirked. Any thought of placating the man flown in an instant. “In kind, is it? Have ye asked my woman to marry ye then?”
Lord Marshall’s eyes sharpened. “You have a woman?”
Ian grinned. “Nay. Perhaps you can help me find one walking about, unattended?”
Marshall visibly held himself in check as he took the point. He took a deep breath. “Then I will have to satisfy my revenge in the usual way. Sign on, and I will fight you in the lists. I wish Gillian to see me thrash you.”
Thrash him? Ha. “Gillian is here?” Ian added an extra touch of eagerness.
Marshall’s face reddened, his expression twisting into a mask of anger. “’Tis Lady Marshall, to you.”
Ian truly didn’t have time for this, but something in him couldn’t help ribbing the other man. “After we shared a tent together? Surely s
he’d wish me to call her Gillian. Does she miss me? Call my name in her sleep?”
Rage suffused Marshall’s face and he lunged, made a grab for Ian’s throat, but Ian blocked him and they scuffled for a moment, seizing wrists, forearms, twisting away, neither man obtaining the upper hand. With an exclamation of disgust, Marshall shoved off Ian’s chest, and they faced off again, both of them breathing hard. Marshall pointed a finger in Ian’s face. “I will see you in the lists, MacGregor. Else you are a coward.”
“I might be busy wi’ the ladies.”
Marshall’s face tightened, his jaw clenching so hard Ian feared for the man’s teeth. In a swift move he turned and walked away, making a lewd gesture over his shoulder. “Else you are nothing short of a coward!”
Ian laughed softly, then turned toward Malcolm. “You followed us here? Found Marshall and brought him? Why?”
Malcolm, eerie blue eyes lit with cunning, light hair blowing unchecked across his face, appeared more unhinged than usual. “Where is the witch, MacGregor?”
He deliberately didn’t glance round for Samantha, keeping his stance and tone casual. “We burned her, ages ago.”
Malcolm’s face fell, his mouth dropping. “You dinna do such a thing. I had use for her.”
A prickling sensation tickled Ian’s spine as protectiveness rose within him. He willed Samantha to stay inside the tent as he fought the desire to plow his fist into the man’s face and the craving nearly overwhelmed his instinct to act unconcerned, uncaring. Taking a breath he tried for a polite expression, and asked, “What kind of use?”
“When I wear the crown I will have need of a powerful seer under my control.”
“Is that so? I’ll let the king know you’re plannin’ an invasion.”
Unfazed, Malcolm arched a brow. “It willna take an invasion, will it? ’Twill only take a crown.”
Samantha crawled from the tent, Ian could see her out of the corner of his eye, and he wrapped an arm around Campbell and, though the man resisted, pulled him effortlessly in the other direction. “Come. We must needs discuss this further.”
“Ian! Wait up. Where are you going?”
Ian bit back a groan as Campbell ducked out from under his arm and, as the man turned, Ian considered striking him unconscious before he got a good look at Samantha, but waited too long in deciding.
Samantha hurried forward, her hair shining its berry hue in the evening light. She smiled up at him, looking so beautiful his heart sank. “What are the plans tonight? Are we going to do something fun?”
Malcolm’s face lit with glee. “Your hair.”
Samantha reached up to touch the glossy locks. “I know, right? Oh, we’ve met before. You sat across from me at dinner the other night. Laird Campbell, isn’t it?” She stuck out her hand and, again, Ian bit back his instincts to knock Campbell’s away as he accepted her offer.
Campbell couldn’t seem to take his gaze from her hair. “’Tis her, is it not?”
“Nay,” Ian said. “’Tis my cousin.” Ian couldn’t stand it and, with a rough jerk, pulled Campbell’s hand from Samantha’s.
Samantha’s brows rose in confusion. “Pardon?”
“She speaks as a seer,” Campbell sounded delighted. “As the one I already have. I should have recognized such the other night.”
A frisson of danger, of premonition, and another chill raced up his spine. “You force me to be blunt. ’Tis my mistress, and I dinna care for the way you gaze upon her. Begone.”
“Mistress?” Samantha protested.
“I’ll take the girl. She’s vital to my plan.” Campbell snared Samantha’s wrist and tugged her forward.
Ian shoved Campbell back, breaking his hold. “Samantha, go inside the tent.”
Thankfully she did so without comment.
Malcolm looked up at Ian, unholy triumph lighting his face. “Thank you for finding her, MacGregor. I’ll use her well, I swear it.” He took a long hard look at Ian’s tent, then turned and left.
Ian had seen that sort of unreason before. As a lad when his step-mother held sway over him. In fighters who’d nothing to lose. At court when ambition overrode sense or feeling. He knew that, as absurd as Malcolm appeared, if he could get hold of Samantha, or influence others to his way of thinking, she could well be in danger.
He hated to admit it, but he almost felt for Lord Marshall. Another wanting your woman, for whatever the reason, didn’t sit well. Too bad the man was so irritating Ian found it impossible to resist provoking him.
One matter was certain. With Lord Marshall and Laird Campbell around, Ian didn’t dare leave Samantha unattended. Aye, he would keep her always at his side.
~~~
The next morning, Ian woke, determined to find King Alexander. The previous night he had searched everywhere, but none could find him or his guards. However, Ian had a pretty good idea where Alexander had disappeared to. If past experience proved correct, he’d be with the lady who currently held his affections, married or no, whoever she might be. Probably within Stirling Castle, but not necessarily. A tent would do him as His Highness wasn’t particular. So Ian had given up and returned to his own camp, wrapped crown still in hand, only to find more disappointment—Samantha fast asleep, the hard ride having taken its toll.
She slept still, and, after a long look at her tranquil face, he quietly left the tent. He beheld the men going about their duties, then glanced inside the four remaining tents, but couldn’t find Brecken. When Dugald appeared, Ian asked, “Where’s Brecken?”
“He left early, purpose unknown.”
No doubt the young man was in search of entertainment. “Keep a close eye on Samantha. Campbell might try and get his hands on her. So might Marshall if Campbell whispers in his ear.” Four strides out of camp, he rethought his plan, and passed the crown to Dugald. “Watch this, as well.”
The night before he’d felt conspicuous, carrying it about. After he spoke to the king this day, they could arrange a delivery.
It took a while, and a few false leads, but he finally found the monarch in the stands before the jousting field with the English King, Henry of Winchester.
“Lord MacGregor, ’tis good to see you hale,” King Henry said warmly.
Ian bowed his head. “Aye. Thank you, Majesty. You, as well.”
King Alexander shot the older man a sour look. “’Tis Laird MacGregor. He’s Scottish.”
“His mother was English,” the king said pleasantly, his tone guaranteed to irritate the younger man. “He won his spurs under de Beaumont, on English soil, if I recall correctly.”
Ian suddenly remembered how much he truly hated politics and dealing with those in power.
The young king bounded to his feet. “Laird MacGregor, what have you been doing? Enjoying your new lands?”
Expectation glowed in the king’s eyes.
Ian didn’t disappoint. “Aye, and I thank you once again for your generosity, Your Majesty. I must needs speak wi’ you. A matter of utmost importance.”
The young king smiled at the older one, turning even Ian’s statement into a competition between them. “So speak. But first I would know why you’ve not displayed your banner.” He gestured toward Stirling’s wall where other standards fluttered in the wind. “Have you no intention to fight?”
“I do not.”
King Alexander’s expression turned sly. “Come now. I have it on good authority that Lord Marshall longs to test your strength.”
“My champion against yours?” King Henry was quick to insert.
King Alexander’s face lit with excitement. “A grand idea. Perhaps a wager?”
Neither glanced at Ian now, both stared at the other, challenge in their expressions. “I accept. Jousting or swords?” The younger king challenged.
“Lord Marshall will insist upon swords, I believe.” King Henry smiled in anticipation.
Alexander’s lips curved. “Swords it be.”
For his part, Ian felt resignation weighing upon his shoulders,
but he didn’t let it show by so much as a flicker of his eyes. Deep down, he’d known this would happen. Not with Marshall, certainly, but that the king would wish him to fight so as to display him as his champion.
It wasn’t necessarily that he dinna wish to. ’Twas more that he loved being his own man for the first time in his life. As a lad, he’d fought hard for his rights, both at home, and at his Uncle’s place in Northumberland. Scottish baseborn might have been whispered behind his back, but after he’d bested the loud mouths, never again to his face.
As an unwanted son, and nephew, with no expectation of money, he’d fought to make his fortune. Eventually his reputation caught the attention of young Alexander, and Ian’s fighting had been at the boy’s pleasure. Still, in the end, while the king may have given Ian the land for his own reasons, he’d given it. Ian’s freedom, and chance at a home, meant much to him. He certainly would do naught to jeopardize it. Which reminded him, he needs must be the one to tell the king of the discovery of the crown, before he heard it from others. “I would talk wi’ you in private, Sire.”
Alexander nodded. “After your fight we’ll have a nice, long chat.”
Ian knew an order when he heard one. “As you wish.” He nodded respectfully, considered bowing to the space between the two kings, then specifically bowed to King Alexander. “My liege.”
He could tell that pleased the young monarch. “MacGregor.” The king bowed his head. “I’ll look forward to the match.”
Ian backed away, facing the men until he was at a respectful distance before turning.
He took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. His list of actions kept growing. Keep the crown safe and give it back to the king before he heard tale of it. Keep Samantha from being taken. Fight Marshall and keep the addled man from killing him. Oh, and never forget, find the villain who wished him dead in his own household. Was it too much to ask to stay home, ready his clan for winter, and spend time getting to know Samantha?