by Ruby Duvall
The old woman made a disgusted noise. “That woman was running like her skirt was on fire.” Aili pointed her knife at the door with her bony hand. “She willna come back here anytime soon.”
Emma set the dough back inside the bowl, covered it and set it aside. “I hope not.” She then dipped her hands into a nearby bowl of water, rinsing her hands off before wiping them on her apron. “What if she told someone about me?”
Aili grunted as she resumed slicing the leeks. “I dinna believe she did. She wouldna want any of the men who stick close to her heels ever thinking that she was a liar.”
Letting her apron slip from her fingers, Emma grew quiet as her earlier anger at Rossalyn drained away. “So you think I’m crazy too?”
“I dinna ken what ye mean by kray-zee but no, lass, not at all. People have been calling me mad for years and my mind is as sound as when I was yer age,” Aili assured her with a firm nod. Emma winced, not at all comforted. “But by my troth, I wouldna have believed it if I hadna seen ye for myself yesterday. Well, look at ye now, child! Making bread as if nowt had happened. There’s magic at work here.”
Emma pulled down her kerchief, letting it cover her locket. “But Iain—”
“Is suspicious of everything, sometimes even his own instincts. He does believe ye. He just dinna ken how he can believe something he normally wouldna. He never did understand well the meaning of faith.”
“How do you understand it?” Emma asked, allowing herself some hope.
“He is?” the old woman gasped, looking at the empty space beyond the opposite end of the table.
“Aili?” She leaned down to look more closely at the woman’s face when she heard the horses approaching, their hooves clopping along the dirt path. “Oh no,” she breathed. Had Rossalyn blabbed about her? Was she about to be arrested and tossed into a dungeon like that poor MacGregor?
The old woman got up and walked toward the door but Emma backed farther away, retreating behind the table toward the rear of the house. She heard a couple of deep-voiced shouts and the sound of someone landing on their feet. Aili made it to the doorway. “Who is it?” she squawked.
“Aili, ye beautiful girl!” a man exclaimed. “This is where ye’ve been spending yer days. I should’ve known.” Emma backed up until she hit the rear cabinets. Where was Iain?
Leaning heavily on her walking stick, Aili hobbled outside and out of view to the left. “James! I’m happy to see ye safe. I hardly see ye and no one tells me news of ye anymore.”
“I’m good, ma’am. Very good.” The man named James then said something in a serious tone too low for Emma to hear and she actually found herself looking around for something to use as a weapon.
“’Tis always a pleasure to see ye, laird,” Aili said with obvious respect in her voice. “Though I dinna really see aught these days,” she joked. The laird? The laird was here?
“Ah, there ye are, Iain,” a second man called, one who spoke with authority. “I didna recognize ye without yer beard. Ye look ten years younger!” He laughed good-naturedly. “No need to run! The lass is inside, aye?”
James interjected, “If ye’ll wait only a moment, laird.”
A man almost as tall as Iain stepped into the doorway, though he was much leaner. He obviously took far more care with his appearance as well. His brown hair was loose but tame, combed back from his narrow, sharp face and his full beard was well trimmed. He wore a jerkin over his tunic, as well as breeks and boots, probably because he rode a horse. She somehow expected him to be holding shackles, or at least a long length of rope but he wasn’t. His left hand was wrapped around the scabbard of a sword hanging from his leather belt.
When his eyes found her, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything but he didn’t speak either. He glanced around the interior of Iain’s home and she found herself glancing wherever he did, wondering what he might be looking for. The man named James then silently stepped inside, relaxing his stance and taking his hand off his sword.
The next man to come inside was shorter and stockier than James and she could tell instantly by his dress that he was the laird. The color of his clothing was more vibrant than anything she had seen in the village, parts of it trimmed with fur. His brown hair was graying but he looked very fit. His chest and shoulders were massive. He smiled upon seeing her and walked up to the table.
“Welcome, young miss,” he said jovially. As he spoke, Aili came back inside and two other men remained outside, standing guard on either side of the door. “I am Archibald Campbell, the laird of these lands and loyal to the King of Scots, David II and his regents.”
Emma froze, having absolutely no idea how to respond. The laird was watching her expectantly but what did he want her to say? The fairy king sends his regards?
Iain stepped into the house, followed by Kenneth. Both were out of breath. Emma glanced at Iain, somehow hoping that the right answer was written on his face. “What is yer name?” the laird said, seemingly baffled by her lack of response.
“It’s Emma.” She looked back at the laird. “I-I mean, it’s Emma, your…lordship?” Was she supposed to bow? Curtsy? Prostrate herself on the ground?
Thankfully, the laird smiled at her answer. “A lovely name and just ‘laird’ will do.” Iain began walking around the fire toward her. “Are ye comfortable here, Emma?” Iain touched her arm with his left hand and pressed his right hand against the small of her back, bringing her closer to the laird.
“Yes, I am, laird,” she answered with more confidence. It seemed that the laird was rather happy to be meeting her. The man looked around Iain’s home for a few seconds, his eyes noting the food being prepared on the table and Emma’s dress.
“Is life here far different from in the mounds?” Not sure how to answer that one, Emma stalled for a few seconds, unconsciously backing up against Iain. The sharp-eyed James was eyeing her closely. Iain’s right hand settled on her waist.
“Yes, but I’ve come to like it.”
“If ye desire it,” the laird said with a smile, holding out his hands, “ye may stay in the castle with my family. Colin speaks of ye often and my wife would enjoy the company.” Iain’s hand tightened against her waist.
Taken aback, she couldn’t help her slack-jawed reaction. Just how were fairies regarded that she would receive such an offer? “W-uh… Thank you very much, laird. You’re much more generous than I ever would have expected. I’m very grateful.” Iain’s fingers now bit into her flesh and his other hand gripped her elbow.
“Jeh-ner-us?” the laird laughed as he looked over at Kenneth. “I ken now what ye meant when ye said she spoke strangely.” He turned back to Emma with a grin. “It’s settled then!”
“However,” she interrupted, “I’m perfectly happy here.” The hand gripping her waist relaxed.
“Are ye sure, young miss? Iain is one of our bravest but we can offer ye more protection at the castle,” the laird entreated.
“If I may, laird,” Kenneth cut in. “Iain is the reason why she wishes to stay.” As if to back up the redhead’s statement, Iain moved his left hand up to her shoulder and pulled her tighter against his body.
“Oh,” the laird said with raised eyebrows, looking at Kenneth. He then glanced back at Emma with a smile. “I see.”
The laird was smiling but Emma wasn’t and her flushed cheeks were not a sign of shyness. Iain’s possessiveness, clashed with his earlier rejection, made her utterly livid. She wasn’t staying for him. She simply didn’t want to be kept under constant guard at the castle, which was only a step away from being a prisoner in the dungeon, just like the MacGregor.
She would have tossed Iain’s hands off her if weren’t for the laird and constable.
“I expect to hear a wedding date soon,” the laird said with arms akimbo. “And I shall expect ye both at the festival come harvest-time, hopefully with a little one on the way.” He wiggled his finger in the general direction of Emma’s abdomen and her cheeks lit on fire, most definitely from shyn
ess this time. The man was worse than Aili! The laird splayed his hands, looking around and leaning forward. “Is there aught else ye may need, lass?”
“N-no, nothing else. You’ve already given me this beautiful dress.”
“Well then!” he barked as he stood up to his full height again. The laird looked at Iain. “I also came to see how this year’s lambs are faring. Ye have time now, aye?”
“Of course, laird,” Iain said, speaking for the first time since arriving.
“I’ll take ye over to the herd,” Kenneth offered, briefly glancing at Iain. The redhead was out the door first and the laird called ahead a question to him as he followed. The men-at-arms were quick to follow. The constable, looking at Emma one last time, ducked out of the house to bring up the rear.
Emma let out the breath she had been holding, her entire body relaxing. She hadn’t realized how fast her heart was racing but already it began to slow down as relief set in. Then she remembered Iain’s hands on her. Jerking away from his touch, she turned to look at him, letting her pent-up anger spill out.
Iain had the gall to look confused. “What…” His features sank into contrition. “This morning, I—”
“The laird is waiting. You’d better go,” she said.
“Damn it, Emma, I need to say—”
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“She isna in the mood to talk and ye dinna have the time, Iain. Best hurry up,” Aili said. Her normally coarse voice was strangely smooth and persuasive. Iain looked across at Aili but then his eyes came right back to Emma.
“Iain, are ye coming?” Kenneth called faintly.
He cursed under his breath and his hands snapped into tight fists and he strode to the door. Just shy of leaving the house, he stopped and turned his head to speak over his shoulder.
“Emma, dinna forget yer promise.”
Her throat tightened as she instantly recalled his gruff voice demanding her word to never leave. The memory was still so powerful that for a couple of seconds, she was back on that bed, breathless and half-naked beneath him.
She almost screamed at him for reminding her of that night but he was gone before she could.
—
Iain was almost ready to throw out his dinner guests once they had finally finished off the bread and pottage. Emma set out raspberries after clearing the empty bowls but his impatient glower and the uncomfortable silence were thankfully quite enough to inspire an early night.
All afternoon and all evening, Emma had been ignoring him. She spent the entire midday meal away from the house washing clothes. After the day’s work was over, he had arrived in time for his evening bath but without saying a word, she had stood up, dumped in the last bucket of hot water and left. When she returned to finish preparing dinner, he tried talking to her, hoping that she would notice his freshly shaven face, but she didn’t so much as look in his direction. It had been only a moment later that Kenneth and his daughter arrived. Emma had smiled for Beth but throughout the entire meal, she avoided all conversation and even eye contact with him.
“But I dinna want to sleep yet,” the little girl complained as Kenneth led her to the door, where Iain stood. Malcolm and Thomas had already left, both grabbing up a handful of raspberries to take with them and mumbling hasty goodbyes. Iain didn’t care if they took the entire basket of fruit, as long as they all left.
“Emma is tired, sweeting,” Kenneth cajoled, tugging Beth along. The little girl looked back at the blonde standing by the table, somehow discerning the fatigue on her face. Iain could see as well that she wasn’t in a good mood—and it was his fault.
“I dinna have to sleep yet?” Beth asked, looking up at her father.
“No but say good night.”
“Good night, Emma,” she said as she waved her small hand. Emma waved back, smiling gently. Beth then looked up somewhat fearfully at Iain, no doubt troubled by his expression. “Good night, Uncle Iain,” she whispered. Iain wished her the same. Kenneth lifted the little girl into his arms and Beth wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder.
Kenneth then stepped close. “Actions over words,” he reminded him.
Once the redhead left, he gratefully closed the door and set the bar in place. Behind him, he could hear the soft sounds of splashing and scrubbing as Emma cleaned up. He turned around to watch her. Her hair had dried already and hung in a long, light, flossy curtain. As she made her way to the closest end of the table, she rewet the cloth in the bowl of water, squeezed out the excess and then slapped the wet rag down again to scrub some more. Her movements were sharp and fast, her mouth set in a straight line.
“I ken why ye’re angry, Emma but—”
“No, I don’t think you do,” she flippantly retorted. She flung the cloth back into the bowl of water in the center and turned to him, her fists on her hips.
“’Tis about this morning, isna it?” His voice rose to match hers. “How could it be aught else? And how could I be expected to believe such a story, without any hesitation, on blind faith?”
“I didn’t expect it to be easy for you but I expected you to keep an open mind,” she said, punching both hands down to her sides. “After the first time we had sex, I worried over why you wouldn’t kiss me. I thought it was just your preference but no, it wasn’t that. I thought this morning that it was because you felt I didn’t trust you to know my secret but no, it wasn’t that either. After you called me mad this morning, after I cried for you to believe me and told you what you have been so eager to know, I had to sit through breakfast and put a smile on my face while you were off condemning me in my insanity.”
Iain could barely keep up. Her words came fast and he honestly didn’t understand a couple of them. However, he knew exactly where her destination lay.
“I had to find out from Kenneth through Aili that the reason why you haven’t kissed me is because you think I’ll use some magical fairy power on you!” She gestured wildly. “How is it that you’re allowed to believe whatever you want about me but I’m the mad one?”
“Nowt makes sense with ye!” he blurted. “Until ye came, I thought I understood my life. I thought I understood how the world worked, or at least my part in it. Ye turn everything on its head and I more often than not dinna understand what I see anymore. I dinna ken what to believe.”
“Yes, you do,” she said harshly, taking a step toward him. “I weigh half as much as you and despite your limp, I can’t even outrun you, but you believed him when Kenneth suggested that I might hurt you or steal from you. You believed him because you trust him.” Iain clenched his jaw to hear sense coming out of her, especially when it made him look like a fool. “After what you saw yesterday—even after that—you first called me a liar when I tried to explain and then you thought I was out of my mind.”
“But Emma, I—”
“And even though I fooled myself into thinking that you’d believe me, that’s not why I’m angry either.” He closed his mouth, falling silent as confusion ambushed him yet again. “It was a mistake to stay here after knowing that I was in love with you because you know that I’m not normal. You know this, so you don’t trust me…not even enough to kiss me.” The air in his lungs left in a whoosh as a tear spilled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. “And how can you love someone you don’t trust? How can I be normal again if everyone knows I’m not?”
“Emma,” he whispered. He took a step toward her but she retreated, holding her hand up while the other one continued wiping at the burgeoning stream of tears.
“So the reason why I’m angry,” she said, “is that I promised you I wouldn’t leave and I can’t even bring myself to break my word.”
“Enough of this.” He closed the distance between them, snatching her wrist when she tried to evade him. He hauled her against him.
“Don’t.” She braced her hands on his chest to keep him at arm’s length but he forced her close and clamped his arm around her. His other hand grabbed a fistful
of her hair and forced her head back. She gasped.
“Never doubt that I love ye.”
He kissed her. Lips already ajar, she was compelled to accept his tongue in her mouth. She stiffened in his arms. He slanted his mouth across her lips, tasting the tang of raspberries. He wanted to feel her lips seeking more though, to feel her relax against him and clutch him closer. Though she didn’t resist, she also didn’t yield and he lifted his mouth.
“Kiss me, Emma.” His lips lightly brushed hers. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Kiss me.” He pressed another kiss to her cheek, tasting her tears. “Please.”
With a shaky sigh, Emma slid her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. He heard her whisper his name just before she touched her lips to his. A growl rumbled out of his throat. He slammed his mouth against hers. Emma sighed desperately as she answered every kiss and met every thrust of his tongue with her own.
The more he kissed her, the more he wanted. He couldn’t have enough and only grew more frenzied, sucking her lower lip into his mouth to gently nibble on it with his teeth before taking her mouth again in another kiss. A warmth that he had never felt before filled him and, if it was the fairy magic he had dreaded, he didn’t care. He reveled in it, his heart pounding and his head spinning.
When they came up for air, he couldn’t resist more small kisses and it seemed that neither could she. She stretched high to leave kisses along his jaw, across his cheeks and even one planted firmly on his chin. Her fingers played in his hair—light, swirling touches that tickled his scalp.
“A perfect pair?” he panted. His gaze traced a path from her sweet lips to her adorable freckles to her clear blue eyes.
“Made for each other,” she said.
Every nerve ending in Emma’s body was buzzing and she could almost hear the hum. Iain was easily and indisputably the best kisser of any man with whom she had ever locked lips. Interesting, passionate and focused, his kisses made her dizzy, made her toes curl and her knees weak.