Darra looked pointedly at Merry, then back at Ran. “So you men would sentence an innocent to suffer whilst you feud over equally petty matters.”
“Petty!” he exploded. His eyes flashed with pure emotion, reminding Merry The Wolf was always there, lurking behind even a seemingly exhausted facade. The fangs were quickly bared when the issue of Wickham or his dead wife were raised. She wondered if this proud man could ever, would ever, trust or love again. His big frame even trembled as he faced down Lady Deuchar, reminding Merry even the greatest mountain might shake from a tiny earthquake.
“Need I remind you, Dar, Sir Jasper is responsible for Blair’s death? However indirectly, he contributed to it by failing to summon me or someone from Auchmull when she was ill.”
“Aye, but why ever was she at Braidwood in the first place?” Darra retorted, in what was obviously an old and familiar argument by now. “That has never been explained to my satisfaction, and you certainly cannot swallow that tale about her hunting for herbs and getting lost. I know you for a brighter man than that.”
Ranald glared at his sister. “The subject is closed. You are a meddler, Dar.”
Darra in turn regarded him with equal frustration. “And you are an infuriating, obstinate man with no regard for others.” She gestured at Merry, then rose and angrily gathered her skirts about her. “The fact you hold this young woman hostage tests even my filial affection for you, Ran. Do not sever the little good grace you still possess with me by ruining Gilbert’s future, too.”
Ranald stared at his sister in smoldering fury, and for a moment Merry wished she might sink into the cushions of the furniture and become invisible. She had never noticed how truly alarming a large, muscular male might appear in such small quarters. For a moment, the two Lindsays regarded each other with matched defiance, then the petite Darra tossed her head and made for the door, brushing past her much larger sibling without another word but with admirable aplomb.
After Lady Deuchar disappeared, Merry expected Ranald to turn his aggravation on her. Instead, he sighed, and raked a hand through his hair.
“Dar is right,” he said. “Whatever the outcome with Wickham, your reputation is quite likely ruined. I am sorry.”
“’Tis too late now, milord. Perhaps you should have considered that before you kidnapped me.”
“Aye.” He looked at her, as if wanting to say something more, and the strained silence beat at them both like the snow against the leaded panes.
After a moment he sighed again. “None wish more than me that Wickham had not forced my hand. This entire situation has left a bad taste in my mouth, lass, of that you may be sure.”
Merry smiled. “Lass. I will never forget the first time you called me that.”
“Oh, aye. Highly offended, you were.” Ranald chuckled at the memory, too. “A proper English lady cannot be accounted a mere lass, ’twould seem.”
“I am sure there are worse words, mayhap some quite apt for a woman who dares to defy her captor.” Her amused gaze met his, and they both smiled at each other.
“I cannot complain, Mistress Tanner. You have been an exemplary prisoner.”
“Why, thank you, milord,” she responded in kind, and rose from the chair to execute a mock curtsey. The tartan throw tumbled from her lap, and they both bent to retrieve it at the same time. Their gazes locked when their faces were but inches apart, and Merry trembled as The Wolf’s warm breath came upon her cheek.
Slowly, very slowly, his hand reached out and cupped her chin. They straightened together, his grip firm but gentle there, and when fully upright, he leaned forward and kissed her. Exquisitely tender was the kiss, yet she sensed the barely restrained passion behind it, and his tongue flicked against her lips with increasing fervor as her arms slid up around Ranald’s neck, drawing him closer.
He shuddered. She felt the angles of his male body even through the layers of her skirts, edging her backward, scalding her emotions and making her shiver with anticipation. Suddenly the backs of her knees bumped the low couch; a second later she was descending as he cradled her in his arms.
Feverishly his mouth devoured hers, as his weight came to rest upon her, but he bore the brunt of it upon his arms and she was too caught up in the moment to care. Sweet, hot, wild emotions tumbled over Merry as she clutched Ranald’s shoulders and met his kiss with her own newly unleashed passion. She sensed his desire, his frustration mingling with the shame of what they did, for it matched her own. Two lonely souls willing to risk all for a single moment of blazing bliss.
She trembled as the drawn-out kiss ended, and Ran looked into her eyes. The expression there was one she would never forget, both a silent plea and simple gratitude, and her soft little sigh answered the unspoken question. Merry let her head fall back against the cushions, and he dipped his own and nuzzled the proffered neck with a restrained yet eager passion, trailing fiery kisses from the delicate line of her jaw down her throat, until his lips came to rest upon the swell of her breasts. He swirled the tip of his tongue on silken flesh. Merry gasped, arching upward, and she felt the hard edge of his arousal pressing against her.
She quivered as Ran’s hand slid up beneath her skirts, traveled slowly up her thigh, tracing lazy spirals upon her skin while the other cupped the back of her head and drew her mouth to his again. She surrendered without a qualm to the ardent caresses of this man she could not deny, who engendered such feelings in her as she had never felt before, everything from fury to delight and passion, to the most exquisitely tender emotions she had ever felt for another.
Gently he released her head against the cushions, and his free hand traveled down to the laces of her bodice, where his fingers caught and drew upon the silken ribbon with dramatic slowness. Merry felt herself shaking as he tugged open the bodice, peeled aside the frill of lace and bared her breasts to his worshiping gaze.
She had always fretted that part of her was too small, but there was nothing but the softest admiration in The Wolf’s dark eyes before his head dipped and he laved her there with a warm tongue. Merry gasped as his lips circled, seized and drew upon a pink nipple. She arched again, this time the hand upon her thigh traveled higher and sought the secret of her woman’s mont, already dewed from the passion of their embrace and the sweet emotions tumbling in her breast.
His fingers stroked her softly there, while Merry whimpered entreaty without words. The tightness in her belly seemed a bane destined to shatter her very being, and she surrendered to his caresses without shame, trusting her gentle captor as she had never trusted another. He teased the pearl of her femininity with the tip of his finger, while his lips drew upon the taut berry of her nipple. Moaning, Merry arched yet again. He slid the tormenting finger deep into her welcoming warmth, and then she felt nothing at all but sweet, wild waves of desire.
Ran moaned as well, his mouth sliding against hers, hot and tasting faintly of drambuie. His tongue met and fenced with hers in a delicious dance, each of them quivering and taut as a quarrel ready to fly from a crossbow. If ever Merry had felt something so right, it was the sweet rapture she found in the arms of The Wolf of Badanloch. Forbidden and delightful.
She shifted against him, her yielding clear in both action and silence, and when the hungry kiss finally ended, Ran gazed into her eyes for a long moment, and then something shuddered through him. He abruptly ceased tormenting her with passionate caresses, and instead removed his wandering hand and smoothed down her skirts. She looked at him, silently questioning, but he merely shook his head.
How deep ran the grief in The Wolf of Badanloch, and Merry’s heart ached when Ran drew a ragged breath and laid his head upon her, shaking with emotion. She knew he thought of Blair then, of betraying his beloved wife’s memory with another woman in the Rose Tower.
All she could do, and did, was clutch his head to her breast and run her fingers through the dark waves of his hair, over and over, soothingly, while his shoulders shook and a silent maelstrom swirled about the keep, without a
nd within.
Chapter Nineteen
MERRY SAT CURLED UP in a chair before the blazing hearth in Auchmull’s great hall, trying to occupy herself with finishing the embroidery on a wall hanging depicting a tower with battlements under the Crown of Scotland. Her English contemporaries would no doubt consider such work treasonous, but then those little goose-brains were not enduring the same circumstances as she, and, furthermore, Merry no longer cared what anyone thought of her actions. Especially since she had watched Sir Jasper and his men ride off the previous eve, her emotions a mixture of relief and dismay. So in the end, Sir Jasper had abandoned her to her fate, a fate come about only because of his own actions. Courage was only a title in the Wickham tradition, and Merry was admittedly embittered.
She had no notion what might happen now, save the fact her reputation was certainly destroyed and she could never return to Court. Her family would not reject her, she knew, but the notion of returning to Ireland and suffering the mingled pity and outrage of the entire O’Neill clan was not a pleasant one. She supposed Uncle Kit and Aunt Isobel would permit her to live at Ambergate for a time, and she did have a dower house property in Kent, though she assumed it was likely uninhabitable after long years unoccupied.
Without a sterling reputation, a woman could not hope to secure a good marriage. At most, Merry might be accepted by one of the O’Neill vassals or lesser men in Ireland who did not know of her disgrace. Or a man with title but no funds, whom her father could pay to ease the burden of the shame she brought. She shuddered at the thought, stabbing her needle through the fine silk and leaving a slightly larger hole than was wise. She looked at the flawless rows of stitches preceding her own and sighed. Naturally, Blair Lindsay had been an exquisite seamstress, too. Was there nothing the little paragon of virtue had not accomplished to perfection?
Merry heard footsteps and glanced up, still frowning over her work. Gilbert Lindsay laughed at her dour expression.
“I take it you are not fond of the gentler arts?” the young man inquired as he vaulted neatly over the couch facing her and landed there with a thud. Merry could not suppress a laugh, especially when he wiggled his eyebrows at her.
“You are a knave, Gil,” she rebuked him playfully, then bit off the length of dangling silk thread and tied it. “I wonder I ever agreed to introduce you at Court.”
“Because y’know the fair maidens will swoon, and you are anxious to impress upon Her Grace as well,” he countered with a twinkle.
Merry laughed. “Indeed, and I should be accounted very foolish if I rested the remnants of my reputation upon your roguish character. La, Gil, but you are a wicked one who would surely add to the great heap of guilt upon my shoulders in light of circumstances here.”
“Guilt? How now, when you cannot be held accountable for Ran’s actions,” he cried. “’Twould be cruel indeed of Gloriana to blame you for such trespasses.” He flushed. “Besides, I was the cad who decided a wee nick of adventure was worth the risk, and unwittingly dragged you into the tangled plot we now occupy.”
“True enough, but think you the queen will care as to the cause of a ruined reputation? Nay, Gil, the mere fact of its existence will coax her outrage to the fore. I shall be banned from Court within the week, mark my words. Doubtless a missive from Sir Jasper is already flying south, as the man washes his hands of me forever.”
“I am not so certain that is anything to grieve over, Merry.”
“Aye.” She set the embroidery aside with a sigh. “Certainly I cannot feign grief over losing someone I hardly knew. But the upset it brings my family, that is what troubles me. By now they must know of my situation and are doubtless both outraged and appalled.”
Gil nodded, looking thoughtful. It seemed he had grown up a great deal in just the fortnight of their acquaintance, and Merry enjoyed his lively company. Often they played chess or strolled the long gallery with its portraits of great ancestors long gone, and when he and Hugo were not joined hip-to-hip, she saw a different side of Gil altogether. With his boyhood friend he was rash, noisy, reckless. Away from Hugo, Gil was quite civil, even gallant. He simply had inherited a stronger dose than usual of spirit in his Lindsay blood.
“Where is Hugo today?” Merry asked, for normally Gil went nowhere without his brawny companion.
“He rode to meet a messenger from Falkland. The king is sending a dispatch in the matter of Macleans and Lindsays.”
“Lord Lindsay did not permit you to go along?”
Gilbert scowled. “Nay, he said ’twas too dangerous for a Lindsay heir. Darra even wanted me to return to Edzell with her and Ross. They are all mollycoddling me and I don’t care for it.”
Merry smiled. “You are the youngest, ’tis understandable. I doted on and hovered about my baby brothers just the same.”
He tilted his head, considering her. “I should think you would make a fierce and overprotective elder sister.”
“They complain of nothing else.” Merry chuckled, adding, “Except, perhaps, bossy as well.”
Her words were punctuated by the sudden entrance of a familiar figure into the hall. Black Cullen smirked at Merry’s surprise when she looked up. He clutched his soft cap to his chest, snow flecking his black and green, white striped Maclean tartan. “Ye wouldna happen to be lookin’ for me, lass?”
Gilbert, too, tensed at the familiar voice. “So you did not return to Badanloch, after all. You were to leave with Hugo and the rest.”
Maclean stood before them in the center of the great hall, surrounded by several trestle tables still piled high with the remnants of the men’s meals. Except for Merry and Gilbert and a handful of servants and guards, Auchmull was mostly empty. Ranald and the others had ridden out in search of Duncan’s killer and fresh game, and Merry felt suddenly vulnerable. She glanced over in time to see Gilbert’s eyes narrow, and knew his thoughts matched her own. Black Cullen meant trouble, in any guise.
“I wasna quite ready ta go. By the by, ye look lovely, lass.” He eyed her somber attire with dismay. “But is it mournin’ yer wearin’ now?”
“Aye. I mourn for a man who was senselessly struck down, by an animal,” Merry said sharply as she rose to face him. “I’m sure you realize as much, sirrah.”
Cullen looked uncomfortable, exactly as she’d hoped. “’Twas sorry I was to hear about old Duncan, truly I was. But I canna do anythin’ about it, now can I?”
“Methinks you can, but you won’t.” Merry dismissed any forthcoming excuses with her curt reply. “I know of this age-old, ridiculous feud, and I believe an innocent has paid for it with his life. Needlessly.”
“Dinna meddle in matters ye canna understand, lass.”
“I shall meddle where I please, when it concerns my life. ’Tis what led to the outrages I have suffered of late.” She regarded him levelly. “Whatever mischief you plan in Lord Lindsay’s absence, I do not doubt you’ll account for it later.”
“In Blair’s memory, even Ranald dinna deny me access to Auchmull,” Cullen said. “Is that nae true, Gilly lad?”
“’Tis Gilbert.” The younger man’s gaze rested icily upon Cullen a moment before he glanced at Merry. “I reluctantly concede Ran has permitted this weasel to slip in and out as he pleases in dubious honor of their relationship by marriage. Yet I would not be overly distraught should a Lindsay dirk find his belly one of these days.”
Merry looked from one to the other, the crackling hostility between the two a palpable thing. Several apt remarks came to mind, yet she bit back any retort which might serve to provoke a scene further.
Cullen chuckled, undaunted. “So hae ye seen what The Wolf and his lair’s made of yet, lass? What do ye think of yer ruthless captor? He let Sir Jasper leave empty-handed rather than settle what ye dub a foolish feud.”
“Sir Jasper left of his own device. There is nothing going on here can’t be resolved. And once Duncan’s murder is solved, I intend to address the issue of this petty feud as well. Too many have hurt for too long.”
“Noble aspirations, but ye canna expect sympathy from one of the wee folk caught in the middle.” Cullen, too, suddenly sobered. “If ye interfere wi’ ancient feuds, lass, dinna expect to emerge unscathed.”
“I should think I have already paid a hefty penalty.”
He looked at her long a moment, then sighed and nodded. “Aye, lass.”
Gilbert had risen and meandered to the window. He spoke into the strained silence. “The riders have returned …”
They heard the hoof beats in the courtyard, and Merry met Cullen’s gaze one more time. “Mayhap they’ve found the killer.”
He regarded her coolly. “They might at that.”
“Nay, Ran looks thunderous.” Gilbert put in. “It did not go well.”
“Och, I was a feared of that,” Cullen said. “Save yer breath, lass. Fate hae already been set into motion, and none can stop it now.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
He hesitated. “Ye read too much into m’words.”
“Do I? You have knowledge of Duncan’s killer, don’t you?”
“Nay.”
“What’s going on here?” a deep voice demanded from the entrance to the great hall. Merry spun around and felt the blood rush to her head in her anger and frustration. Ranald stood there, scowling darkly at both her and Cullen, obviously leaping to rather wild conclusions of his own.
“I was just … that is, Cullen …” Merry began, waving her hand in a feeble attempt to explain. She was still flustered by Cullen’s evasiveness.
Ranald’s eyes were like black ice. “Go on.”
“Mistress Tanner was but askin’ m’humble opinion on her attire,” Cullen said, too smoothly to be believed. “Lasses and their gewgaws, ye ken.”
Gilbert shot them both a glance, but said nothing.
“Nay, I don’t understand, but I’m glad you’re here anyway, Cullen. You were sleeping in the stables the night Duncan was stabbed. Did you see or hear anything?”
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