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 ye.”
“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 bitt
er. 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 ye 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 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.
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?”
His chest heaved, and he breathed in the pub’s smoke-filled air. Her subtle fragrance, wild roses and honey, soothed his nostrils to banish less pleasant odors.
“Ye would disregard his proposal of marriage and accept mine?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I have nothing to offer ye.”
“I want ye.” Her words seared his flesh and his need to touch her drove him to slide in close beside her, on the bench. When a hand slid toward her neck, someone tapped him on the knuckles.
“Keep yer distance from my maid, Lord Mackenzie. I believe there is the matter of yer wench to discuss?” Rose’s impeccable timing made them break apart.
“Aye, I must decide what to do with my captive.”
“Ye kidnapped her. Send her away.” Rose said.
When he glared at her, Rose paled. Lady Fia looked less than pleased.
“She attempted to sway me. Her kiss held no pleasure for me.” Marcas blew out the lone candle, throwing their corner into shadow. He pulled Fia onto his lap. While her startled maid sputtered and fanned her face, he covered Fia’s with kisses. She squirmed closer.
Where she ought to be, now and forever.
He vowed never to let her go. All too soon, he forgot about Kirk, and his captive.
* * *
Haven glanced around the small privy. The room sat at the back of the inn with a window too high and too small to allow an easy getaway. The only door faced the back of the dining hall. She would have to pass in full view to reach the pub’s rear exit.
She dried her sodden dress the best she could then caught her reflection in the oval of silvered glass propped on a rickety wood shelf. Its primitive surface distorted her face, but she could tell she looked haggard. Tired fingers reached up and smoothed her disheveled hair. Bruised lips pouted. Cheeks reddened by Lord Mackenzie’s whiskers sickened her, as did her guilty conscience.
The man can kiss, but all I thought about was Kirk.
Too bad Kirk turned out to be a bloodsucking bastard who deserved to die one-hundred deaths. If she hadn’t sworn off men the moment she learned of Kirk’s betrayal, Mackenzie might have been a candidate for an interesting adventure between the sheets.
Who am I kidding? I want Kirk.
The privy door swung open and she flattened against the wall. Time was up.
“ ‘Tis the witch,” boomed a voice inside the small room. The mirror shook.
Haven locked eyes with an elegantly dressed woman whose beautiful maid had glared at her from under a dull gray scarf.
“Ye kissed Lord Mackenzie.”
“I can explain.”
“I am listening.”
“I don’t want him. Not in that way.” Haven suddenly found it hard to explain her actions to a woman with enflamed cheeks and fisted hands. Bodily harm seemed imminent.
“Then, why did ye kiss him?”
“I wanted to take his mind off me and—”
“By kissing him senseless? Not the best way to handle a man like him.”
Haven realized she had to come clean. If this woman did not want her near Marcas, she might help her escape.
“I want to leave. He will not let me go. Will you help me?”
“Aye, I shall. Put on my scarf. Walk between the wall and me then dart out the back door. But, first take these.” The woman smiled and slipped her several coins.
“I don’t know how to thank you, miss—”
“I am Rose, maidservant to Lady Fia of Castle Ruadh. My lady sits with Lord Mackenzie as we speak.”
Did Haven’s shock reflect on her face? Kirk’s betrothed was with Mackenzie? She settled the scarf over her head, then turned to push through the door. “A question before I go?”
“Ask.”
“Is she going to marry Kirkwall Gunn?”
“Never! After falling in love with one man, an arranged marriage to another was not to her liking. Strong-willed, that one. Her family thought only of their needs. Lord Mackenzie will make her happy. Laird Gunn will understand, since they had only met the one time.”
Rose walked out the door, with Haven in her shadow. Rose headed into the dining hall, while Haven snuck out the back door.
Her escape proved uneventful. Aided by moonlight, Haven’s brisk stride soon put the village, and Lord Mackenzie, far behind. She considered her next step. Should she run as far away as she could, or should she search for Cameron?
The attack had occurred hours earlier. He could be dead. The more she thought of how he risked his life to save hers, the more her guilty conscience urged her on. As soon as Lord Mackenzie realized she had escaped, he and his men might come after her. On foot, she had little chance of gaining any distance.
She crept through the dark until the villa
ge lay far behind. Animal noises echoed through the trees. Fear would not prevent her from jumping into its dark recesses if she chanced to meet anyone on the lonely road. Haven decided to backtrack along the route Mackenzie had ridden to the village. Spying the trail that led into the forest, she squinted through the gloom and searched for the bodies of Balfour and Cameron.
Voices cursed in the darkness, somewhere to her left. She slipped between two bushes and spotted a small campfire. Sparks snapped and shot into the sky when a flaming twig popped. A horse whinnied.
The aroma of charred meat floated on the breeze. She crept closer. Branches clawed her face, so Haven pulled the borrowed scarf tight about her cheeks. Two burly warriors sat on a large log, chewing and slurping their dinner. A dark form lay huddled under a horse blanket on the opposite edge of the clearing. Moans rose from the faceless figure and Haven’s heart jumped into her throat.
Cameron?
In order to help, she’d have to take out the two guards. No longer thinking like a helpless victim, she crouched and thought this through.
“Use your strengths.” She repeated her mantra until a thought popped into her head and a smile pulled at her mouth. She’d brew a sleeping draft with the packet of sleeping powder Iona had given her.
That day, at the New England Highland games, felt years ago. She’d filled her pockets with chamomile petals that she had picked along the river the afternoon she soaked her feet, the day Kirk kissed her.
Her sigh broke the silence and she bit her lip to keep from making any further noise. If she added her entire supply of petals and Iona’s powder to their water skin, they’d get drowsy. She could do the deed, but if the person moaning wasn’t Cameron, she’d be fresh out of ideas. And potions.
She crept toward the tree where the guard had laid the skin. Crushing the dried petals into a coarse powder, Haven stealthily crept forward, dropped the potion inside the skin, backed away, and waited.
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