by Trisha Telep
“A message from The Macbain.” He handed over a sealed missive. Phillip flanked Alec as he broke the seal. The room hushed, waiting. Alec thumped his fist down on the table making the wooden bowls wobble and Rachel and Isabelle flinch.
Alec looked up with a mischievous grin. “It seems that the great Macbain has misplaced the daughter of a wool merchant visiting our Highlands.” Rachel felt the eyes in the room turn from Alec to her. “Seems he’s willing to give over quite a reward for her safe return to Druim.” Phillip translated in Gaelic and soon the whole room was laughing, deep guffaws. Rachel and Isabelle looked at one another. Rachel watched Alec as he read the rest of the missive. His smile turned stony. He eyed the messenger.
“Tell The Macbain and this Angus Riley that Rachel Brindle is a guest of Munro Keep and will soon be a permanent member of Clan Munro. I doona trade women for cattle.” He snorted as if offended.
Rachel’s fingers curled in her lap at the word “permanent”. Hadn’t Alec just sworn that she could do anything that made her happy? Happy as long as she remained with the Munros. Isabelle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She leaned her head against Rachel’s neck. “I will stay with you,” Isabelle whispered. Rachel just shook her head. She rose from her bench, Isabelle next to her. Linked arm-in-arm, they turned to the steps.
“Where are ye going?” Alec’s question boomed across the murmurs in the room.
Rachel paused but didn’t turn around. The room quieted. “It would make me happy to retire to my pen.” She glanced back at Alec, her eyes piercing. “It’s on Munro land so I assume it’s within my allowed territory.” He looked confused for a moment at the cattle reference, but then his face hardened. Rachel didn’t wait for a nod but walked out of the room with Isabelle.
Rachel curled on her side next to her soundly slumbering sister. Sleep, sleep, she repeated, to dam the swirl of thoughts flooding her mind. But they tumbled over. It was even difficult to close her eyes, because every time she did she felt Alec’s hard, warm chest under her cheek, his hips clenched between her thighs, his strong hands holding her face as he kissed her in that black cave. Sleep! She shouted in her head and squeezed her eyes shut, replacing the carnal picture with one of fluffy sheep roaming the green fields before Munro Castle.
Rachel’s ears caught the thud of footsteps up the narrow stairway. The tread slowed, grew softer as it neared her door. It stopped. Rachel pushed up in the bedcovers, glaring. “He posts a guard on us,” she whispered. So she wasn’t a slave, wasn’t a prisoner anymore? Ha!
Anger, fuelled by irritation at her own rampant musings, propelled her from bed. She yanked a blanket around her shoulders and threw the door open. Her lips parted to insist to the guard there that she wasn’t going anywhere in the middle of the night. She froze.
Alec stood in the low light of the lighted sconce along the stone wall. His gaze slid from her bare toes, up her form, to her bewildered expression. “Alec?”
“Ye left before the final course. I’m also partial to sweets.” Rachel realized he held a wooden bowl.
He placed it in her hand. “Raspberries?”
“Sweetened.” His voice was soft in the dark. “I saved ye some.” He indicated the door. “I thought to leave it.”
He remembered her favourite sweet. “I … I,” she tripped over her words. “Thank you.” Rachel tipped her head to the side and studied the tall, brawny warrior. He’d been demanding, booming, boastful down in the great hall, but then he brought her this wonderful surprise. “Alec Munro,” she spoke softly in the small space between them as she met his eyes. “You are by far the most thoughtful barbarian I’ve ever met.” She allowed the grin she felt growing to relax along her face and popped one of the delectable berries in between her lips.
Alec leaned forward, his stare intent on her mouth as if following the path of the sweet fruit. He splayed one hand against the wall on either side of Rachel, trapping her close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. She inhaled and was assaulted by his clean, masculine scent. His dark eyes watched her savour the berries. She swallowed the sweet treat. His face moved closer and Rachel felt her heart beat a rapid song. She held her breath as the rough pad of his thumb traced her full bottom lip.
“Ye’re welcome,” he murmured. The silence stretched as if he waited for her to reply, but all the clever quips flew from her head as she memorized the pressure of his thumb that moved against her cheek. “Good eve.” Alec pulled away and clipped down the hall, leaving Rachel breathing heavily, clutching the wooden bowl of sweetened raspberries.
“Why the hell is he riding here?” Alec grumbled in frustration. The last thing he needed was the priest’s suspicions and hell-burning sermons.
“Father Daughtry rides with Colin Macleod of Lewis,” Phillip supplied with a shrug. “I think he was visiting The Macbains for a baptism.”
“Let him know we are without any bairns to bless,” Alec said as he watched the stairs. It was well past dawn and Rachel still hadn’t emerged from her chamber. Would the lass hide away from him all day? “Phillip, have Fiona check on our lady guests and encourage them to come break their fast.”
“Ask her yerself. I’ve a priest to thwart.” Phillip slapped Alec on his shoulder and trudged out the door.
“I’ll run up,” Fiona called from a corridor near the stairwell.
“Thank ye,” Alec called and drank some clear spring water as he contemplated exactly what to demand from William Brindle. The man had seemed more eager to leave behind a daughter than to pay the shillings he owed. Alec frowned over his tankard until the sound of slippers on the stairs pulled his gaze.
Rachel wore a pale blue dress that sculpted against her lush figure, displaying all the ripe curves just perfect for a man’s hand. The dress stood in lovely contrast to the dark curls shrouding her slim shoulders. She was petite but her stance was strong, making her seem taller, sturdy. Her long lashes were as dark as her hair and lay against her moonlight pale skin. She smiled in greeting.
He stood, inhaling fully. “Good morn.” His gaze flicked to Isabelle and he bowed his head to her as well.
“And good morn to ye, old friend,” came a booming voice from the doorway. Alec’s smile froze and tightened. He pivoted on one heel to face Colin Macleod. Tall and considered handsome by the lasses of Lewis and beyond, the man exuded a gentle strength that he usually held in reserve. Father Daughtry stood beside him glancing around the hall. The ordained man was not much more than a score and ten years but had already started to develop the paunch of a well-fed clergyman. He’d recently fled the manic climate of England.
Someone clomped in from another corridor. “Good morning, father,” Rachel called.
“And to you,” William Brindle replied as he sat down at the table and began to devour a small loaf of oat bread.
“And good morning to you, Father,” Isabelle called to the priest.
Two fathers, neither of them wanted. Alec’s forced smile soured. Phillip came in behind Colin and Daughtry, and Alec threw a stoic glare his way. Phillip shrugged and indicated the letter that Colin held.
“Which one is Rachel?” Father Daughtry asked, his gaze perusing the rolls on the table.
Rachel stepped closer, but Alec held up his hand. She actually stopped. He almost smiled. “What do ye want with Rachel Brindle?”
Colin passed him the missive with the Macbain seal. “The Macbain is looking for her.”
“I know that. He sent a man last night and I replied.” Alec unfolded the paper.
The priest frowned. “Your reply is the problem.” His gaze fastened on Rachel. “You need to give her back.”
“And why would I do that?” Alec’s scowl intensified.
“Because,” Father Daughtry reprimanded, “she’s handfasted to Angus Riley.”
“What?” Rachel exploded.
Colin looked from Isabelle to Rachel. “Ye’re married to Angus, lass, at least for a year and a day.”
Six
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sp; “But I barely spoke to the man,” Rachel fumed where she paced by the empty hearth.
“You spent the night on Macbain land,” Father Daughtry replied and took a sip of ale.
“In a cave on the mountain,” Rachel nearly yelled, but reined in her hysteria when Isabelle touched her arm. “Without Angus Riley,” Rachel added in a firm but softer tone.
“You are but a woman,” the priest continued and Rachel clamped her teeth shut. “A man must have been with you. How else did you escape Druim?”
“I escaped by using my brain,” she responded evenly to the insult.
“Rachel was with me.” Alec’s granite-edged words filled the room. It was a simple statement but easily misinterpreted. Phillip smiled roguishly. Colin merely glanced at her from where he sat staring at Isabelle who tried to pretend she wasn’t staring back at him. Confirmation of Rachel’s wickedness flared in the eyes of Father Daughtry and her own father.
“Whore,” her father hissed low, condemnation in his wild eyes.
The twang of steel sliding free broke through William’s sputtering. “Shut yer thieving, lying mouth else I cut yer tongue from it,” Alec growled, his sword a natural extension of his arm as he moved into a battle stance. Rachel stood rooted to the stone floor. Concern for her father’s life warred with fury that he’d judged her without any evidence or defence.
“Rachel Brindle is as intact as when I found her on the mountain outside Druim,” Alec gritted out, his stare taking in the witnesses to her humiliation. “And if she says she was untouched at Druim, she was untouched. Angus Riley lies.” Alec held his sword until Father Daughtry finally nodded.
“He comes here to claim her from ye,” Colin said. “Noon, Elspet’s meadow.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard today,” Alec said and sheathed his sword. “We’ll finish this.”
“No,” Rachel exhaled. “I will not have blood spilled over me.”
Alec’s eyes turned to her. They still held fury, but their blue depths softened. “It’s our way, lass.” He indicated the large tapestry hanging on the wall depicting the death scene that had started the feud a hundred years ago. “I willna have ye slandered, and I willna give ye up to those lying bastards.”
She stepped closer to him, her eyes and face as hard as his own. “Then I’m coming.” Her voice dropped. “To clean up whatever mess you all make.” If she couldn’t stop them from fighting, she could stop them from dying.
* * *
Rachel inhaled the light fragrance of heather and gorse on the summer breeze. The sun beat hard against the low clouds, breaking through to touch the bright green field. Elspet’s meadow – the place where Macbain and Munro had battled for a woman. Blasted dramatic Highlanders. Rachel frowned at the powerful man who slid from his horse. Angus’s eyes sought hers and his easy smile faltered at her fury. Did the man honestly think she welcomed his slander?
“Are ye well?” Angus called across the space where wildflowers danced in a swirling frenzy.
Rachel tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I did not handfast with you, Angus Riley. I don’t even know you. Withdraw your ridiculous claim and walk away from this cursed field.”
Another man, taller and broader, dismounted. He had the conceited look of authority.
The Macbain.
“Whether ye are aware or not, Angus Riley claimed ye when he brought ye to my castle. He took ye without force. Ye went along willingly.”
“I was unconscious,” Rachel snorted.
“When ye woke, ye did not ask to turn around.”
She threw up her hands. “I did!” Isabelle placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. It was his word against hers.
Alec stepped before her, sword in hand. Angus’s sword sang out as he strode forward. A ray of sun broke through the clouds to shine down between the enemies as if Elspet herself tried to bar them from making the same mistake they did a century ago. Rachel’s fingers dug into the back of Alec’s shirt. When he turned towards her and lowered his sword, Angus lunged.
“No!” Rachel screamed and twisted to defend Alec. But Angus’s momentum was too great. The point of his sword lowered from his strike but he couldn’t stop the thrust in time. Rachel gasped as hot pain ripped through her middle, piercing her intestines, slicing arteries, veins and muscles. The solid blade tore back out of her as he withdrew.
Alec roared and caught her wilting body, cushioning it as she crumpled to the sunlit wildflowers. “Rachel! Nay!” His exhales were fierce pants. “Doona not leave me.”
Alec’s words swam in her head, mixed with the clenching pain and spreading numbness. The tang of blood and bile obliterated the subtle aroma of summer. Rachel gasped, straining for air, and shivered.
On the next ragged inhale she felt warmth. Heat wrapped around her middle and she blinked her eyes open. Alec stared down at her. Deep emotion turned his blue eyes darker, more intense. A brilliant array of lighter blues shot out from his pupils. She reached a blood-streaked hand to his face. “Beautiful,” she whispered.
“Hold on, Rachel,” he pleaded and rubbed her hand along his warm cheek.
Pain ebbed as warmth woke Rachel’s senses.
A startled gasp came from Father Daughtry and several others gathered around. “She’s glowing.”
Rachel glanced down her body where Isabelle rested her hands near the wound. Her sister’s eyes were closed in concentration as she fed her magic into her.
“Isabelle?” William choked.
Rachel reached for Isabelle’s hands, at the same time feeding her own magic, now revived, throughout her body to knit the worst of her wounds.
“No, father. It is me.” Rachel met Isabelle’s eyes and she nodded, a smile touching her lips. Isabelle removed her hands but the glow continued. “I am the one who glows, not sweet Isabelle.” Rachel continued.
“Witchery!” Father Daughtry clutched his heavy crucifix.
Rachel heard murmurs around them, but Alec’s face blocked the men’s view. “I’m sorry I distracted you again,” Rachel whispered to Alec.
He rolled his eyes and exhaled in a gust. After a full breath, his worry relaxed into a broad smile. “Bloody hell, thank ye Lord for magic.” Rachel smiled at his blasphemous prayer. His eyes closed for a brief moment as he shook his head, his smile turning grim. “I swear, Rachel, I’ll never let ye near danger again.” With that oath, Alec lifted her into his arms. She let him carry her, her strength depleted. Rachel glanced at Isabelle where she leaned against Colin. Colin nodded to Rachel, subtle appreciation and respect in his gaze.
“We shall not suffer a witch to live,” Father Daughtry recited and clenched his rosary.
“I would keep yer name calling to yerself,” Colin advised when Alec’s hard stare shot across the distance to pierce the cleric. Rachel glanced over Alec’s shoulder at the flabbergasted Macbains. Angus’s sword sagged, its blade dark with her blood, the tip lost in the green grass.
“Go home Macbains,” Alec growled without turning. “No one believes yer lies.” He paused, turning to stare hard at Angus. “Rachel Brindle is mine.”
Rachel’s healed stomach fluttered with Alec’s words and she found it difficult to inhale fully. She could easily read the energy surging through Alec, muscles contracting with power, heart thudding in time with his footfalls. Rachel’s pulse surged as she replayed his words.
Rachel Brindle is mine. Did that make Alec Munro hers? Her hands slid to his well-muscled biceps.
“Ye are well?” he spoke low. She nodded. They rode back to the keep in silence. Rachel leaned her head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum. Alec’s essence enveloped her – his clean masculine smell, his heat, his corded arms pulling her into the shelter of his chest. Even his legs braced around her, supporting her easily without complaint.
Rachel insisted on returning to the great hall after changing yet another ruined gown. Between Father Daughtry’s condemnation and her father’s spluttering, she wasn’t about to sit above in
her room while they slandered her.
“Never seen anything like it,” Father Daughtry shook his head. “Must be from the Devil.”
“She prays.” Alec’s voice sounded annoyed. “’Tis a blessing from God. She saved my own life that day Angus stole her.”
Rachel and Isabelle stepped into the great hall. Father Daughtry stared directly at Rachel, his cross held tightly. “Have you fornicated with the Devil?”
“I am a maid,” she replied, eyes wide.
“With healing magic you could remake yourself a maid every day,” her father said and Rachel gasped at his crudeness.
Alec’s sword rang with promise as he levelled it at William’s throat. “The only reason yer heart does not bleed itself dry on the end of this blade is because it would distress yer daughter.” William’s eyes bulged and he backed away. Alec brought his sword around to point at Father Daughtry. “She is not a witch and the only devil she will be consorting with is me.” Rachel opened her mouth and shut it. At least he hadn’t said fornicating.
“The church may want to investigate this further,” Father Daughtry mumbled.
“The church will need to go through me,” Alec said, his scowl so murderous it made the priest cross himself.
Phillip stepped beside Alec in front of Rachel. “And every warrior belonging to Clan Munro.”
Colin left Isabelle’s side to stand on the other side of Alec. “And Clan Macleod.”
Rachel blinked several times. Never before had anyone defended her besides her sister. And now it seemed she had the protection of two whole Highland clans.
After a battle of stares, Father Daughtry nodded and kissed his cross. “What then would you have me do? It is my duty to fight for your souls up here in this heathen land.”
“Then bless us,” Alec said. “Our union.” Rachel turned to stone.
“What?” Her father’s face flushed.