The Thistle and the Rose

by May McGoldrick

  But those thoughts could be put aside for a while. Colin was nearly home, and that made the warrior smile.

  Suddenly Alec was aware that Colin was not steering toward the small harbor village that lay dark and sleeping beside the fortress. Colin was heading directly toward the surf- beaten cliffs beneath the castle walls. But there was no pier, no beach. The cliffs were jagged outcroppings of stone. Alec could see the waves breaking over reefs that pushed up through the raging surf like the heads and backs of so many sea serpents. Colin had gone berserk, Alec decided. That's why he was smiling so strangely.

  The boat was fairly flying across the water. They were now surrounded by crashing rollers and reefs that threatened to demolish the small boat before they even hit the wall of rock. The distance between the boat and the cliffs was closing at a truly breakneck pace. Alec clung to the thick wooden side and murmured a prayer. Colin had gone daft. Too many hits to the head.

  Suddenly the boat dropped into the trough of a wave and seemed to almost slide to the right. As it did, the sailor pulled down the sail and heaved the short mast out of its place, easing it quickly into the belly of the boat.

  Alec watched the activity openmouthed, glancing back at the smiling Colin still standing at the tiller, and then shot a glance back at the cliff wall that was about to crush them.

  But the wall would not crush them—there was a low and narrow break in that murderous cliff. He no sooner saw the small cave opening than they were through it, careening in the blackness through flat water and then bumping up a gently sloping incline that slowed and eventually brought the boat to rest.

  Colin and Alec waited while the sailor struck a flint to the torch that Colin held. The light flared, illuminating the low-ceilinged cavern that stretched beneath the cliff and castle.

  Alec glared at his black-haired host. “You might have told me we were going to try killing ourselves. I would have prepared myself.”

  Colin laughed. “Oh, you mean you didn't know about the cave?” he said, knowing full well that the Macpherson heir hadn't any knowledge of it, in spite of his many visits.

  Alec smiled in spite of himself. “That is quite an entry!”

  Colin handed the torch to Alec and took some of the gear the sailor was unloading from the boat.

  “Aye, I believe I've only wrecked one or two boats coming in at that speed.”

  “Three, m'lord,” the sailor jokingly murmured under his breath to Alec. “I've still splinters in my buttocks from the last one that broke up.”

  “Those splinters are from you lounging too long on the kitchen bench, you lazy water rat,” Colin laughed good-naturedly. “You go on up through the kitchen, now. In the morning get one of your boys to help you with the rest of the gear.” It was good to be home.

  Alec's handsome face looked thoughtful. “Now that I know about this entryway, it shouldn't be any trouble for me to come in here one night with fifty or sixty of my best men, and...”

  “Sure, Alec. And be sure to come in at high tide.”

  “High tide? Why?” Alec asked.

  “Because then we'll fish your bones...or better yet, your war gear out of the water,” Colin said wryly. “There's no trace of this cave at high tide.”

  “Then the fifty of us will sneak in at low tide, with these nice sharp Highland dirks,” Alec continued, indicating the dagger at his belt, “and cut all your thr—”

  “No fear of that,” Colin interrupted with a smile. “Even if you were able to get through the entry, you'd wander through the caves that honeycomb this hill until your beard turns gray and your teeth fall out.”

  “All right.” Alec yawned. “You win this one. What I need is a place to sleep after getting out of this wet gear.”

  “You'll sleep here in the guest room,” Colin smirked, indicating the cave with a sweep of his hand. “All the bathwater you'll need.”

  “I'm glad you consider me a friend,” Alec responded. “I'd hate to have to sleep in the dungeons.”

  “If you must be such a complainer, then we'll have to arrange that,” Colin said with a gruff laugh. “Follow me.”

  Lighting a thick candle with the torch that he left for the sailor, Colin led his friend into the depths of the cave, through a labyrinth of passages, and then turned into an arched stone corridor. Alec followed until they reached a stone stairway. But Colin did not go up the stairway. Instead, the warrior stopped before the stairs and, with a threatening look, turned his back on the Macpherson, blocking Alec's view of what he was doing. Then he turned, gave Alec a wink, and pushed at a section of a stone side wall, which slid noiselessly open. The two men ducked through the opening and began the long, winding stair climb to the castle above. They passed through several levels of maze-like corridors. After traveling down a long passageway past several wooden stairways, Colin led Alec through another closed section of wall, then climbed a short set of steps with his friend at his heels.

  At the top Alec could see a short corridor, and he followed Colin toward a wooden panel on the right. The wall angled in from there, squeezing the corridor from either side just beyond the panel. Alec realized they had come up between the stone walls of two rooms. The narrowed section of the passageway was simply the extra space needed for each room's fireplace. They had to be between two of the best bedrooms.

  “This next panel's your regular dungeon cell,” Colin joked. “If you recall, my dungeon is next door. Make yourself comfortable while I go drop my gear. I'm sure my father will want to greet you himself. He'll be glad to hear of your father's decision about backing the Stewarts.”

  Alec put his hand on Colin's arm and stopped him with a threatening look.

  “All the times I've stayed in this room, and you never told me that there was a secret passageway in. I'll be sleeping with my dirk handy tonight.”

  “I never thought you wouldn't,” Colin said, laughing. “I'll send a man up with some wood to light the fire.”

  “Send up a woman to light the fire,” Alec joked.

  “You can get your own wenches, Alec Macpherson! I'll not be getting them,” Colin snorted as they stopped by the entry into Alec's room. “But, at any rate, you will not find any to suit you in this castle.”

  “Not if they've the face of a Campbell,” Alec responded with an exaggerated shudder. “Oh, the nightmares that'd follow.”

  “Enough, you Highland horse thief. I'll be back in a little while...through the hallway door.”

  Colin slid a wooden latch and pushed the panel open. He could see the moonlight streaming across the stone floor, and, giving Alec a friendly shove into the room, pulled the panel shut.

  He turned and continued down the corridor.

  Celia didn't know what awakened her. When she opened her eyes, there was no noise other than the far off sound of the wind and the waves from outside the small glazed window. It was still night, though the fire in the hearth had long been out. She peered out from the heavy cloth curtain that hung around the bed. The moonlight lit the room fairly well, and nothing was unusual or different.

  She had barred the door to the hallway from inside. The only other door was the small one into Ellen and the baby's room. The hallway door to their room was barred as well, and Celia could see that the door between the rooms was closed. Perhaps she should leave the door ajar, she thought.

  No, that was needless worrying. Of any castle in Scotland, Kildalton had to be one of the safest. Her mind was just playing tricks on her.

  Celia's eyes began to close again, but in the next moment she sat upright when she heard a wooden latch slide. Soundlessly, she drew her short sword from its place by the ornate headboard of the bed. Peering out again, she started at the sight of a tall warrior standing in front of one of the decorative wooden panels beside the great fireplace. Where had he come from? The wooden panel?

  Still as a statue, she watched him for a moment look over at the bed, then begin to cross the room toward the baby's door. As he did, Celia watched him pull his long sword
from its scabbard.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Alec dropped his leather saddlebag to the floor and looked over at the great bed that awaited him in the shadows of the moonlit room. That bed was going to feel mighty good after the hard, wet journey from the Highlands and drafty old Dunvegan Castle. A good bed, a bedroom with a fireplace, and glazed windows—these Campbells spared no expense living the good life. It was practically sinful.

  Ah, well, I can be as good a sinner as they, he thought, starting across the room to the wall pegs. I'll get out of this chain mail, hang these wet clothes on the pegs, and get ready for the short welcoming visit from Colin's father. Please, Lord, let it be short.

  Pulling his sword from its scabbard, Alec glanced up at the pegboard beside the small door. Then the scream stopped him in his tracks.

  Celia knew that because of his height, she'd need to cut him down, or knock him down, to get at his throat. The chain mail would protect him from a straight thrust to the side of the chest.

  When the intruder started for the small door, Celia erupted from the bed with a scream that could curdle a brave man's blood. It was a cry that a Welsh warrior in her father's service had taught her. Her uncle Edmund had laughed when he'd heard the lesson taking place, but he had told her that the Welsh had broken the nerve of many a hardened adversary with those war cries. It was the violent suddenness of it that went right to the bone.

  Celia flew across the wooden floor with the speed of a striking snake. She swung her short sword at the knee closest to her. She'd drive into him with her shoulder whether she chopped the leg or not.

  The white-shrouded ghost shrieked across the floor at him with a speed that he'd not thought possible. It was only instinct that made him swing his sword to deflect the flashing metal that he saw out of the corner of his eye arcing toward his knee. Then the “ghost” hit him with a shoulder that could hardly be called vaporous. As the breath was knocked from him, the giant warrior felt himself sailing backward.

  With a crash, Alec landed on a three-legged wood chair that splintered into firewood. Before he could move a muscle, the ethereal figure was sitting on his chest, and the fallen warrior felt the point of a sword pushing meaningfully at the flesh beneath his chin.

  But it was her eyes of black sapphire that pierced his will to resist.

  Colin squeezed his great chest through the narrowed passageway between the fireplace walls and opened the panel into his room. Before he had the chance to close off the passage, though, that nightmarish shriek froze him. For a moment he thought that some unearthly, eldritch fiend was coming at him from the passageway, and he shook the thick candle from his hand and whipped out his sword.

  The crash of metal and splintering wood that followed the scream came from the other side of the corridor.

  Ducking back in and squeezing through the pitch black passage, Colin easily found the wooden latch slide—he'd grown up playing in these passageways. Kicking the panel open, the giant leapt into the bedroom, sword first, ready for anything that he might find there.

  The sight that greeted him stopped him dead.

  It was a vision. There, in the moonlight, knelt an unearthly creature, a white-gowned angel who glowed in the darkened room.

  With a toss of shoulder-length curls of auburn hair, black eyes flashed at him for the briefest of moments, shooting lightning bolts into Colin that seared the deepest recesses of his soul with a burning that he had never before experienced. Desire, fear, wonder, all merged and raced pell-mell through his body, wreaking havoc, leaving him gasping for breath.

  Colin had been ready to do battle, but now his sword hung loosely at his side. The aura of beauty that surrounded this creature had dazzled him. One look had vanquished him.

  The face of this angel was like no other human face Colin had ever seen. The perfection of the features: the eyes that made him burn, the high cheekbones that made him tremble, the lips that stirred in his loins a feeling more of lust than religious devotion.

  Colin was indeed gripped with a fervor that quite nearly brought him to his knees. The warrior's eyes traveled from her face to her bare feet, and the journey was slow and thorough. The thin, white shift, modest though it was, could do little to hide the body within its luminescent weave. The perfect physical incarnation he was seeing was undoubtedly a product of the heavens, but what he was feeling was very much of this earth.

  There, before him, lay the future chieftain of the Macpherson clan, with a short sword to his throat. Alec, too, was amazed by this thing of beauty about to spit his head on a sword. Resistance seems to be the last thing on his mind, Colin thought.

  She was only half Alec's size and weight, and yet the two men were unable, or unwilling, to move.

  Something made Celia hesitate. For perhaps the first time in her life, she didn't quite know what to do next. The giant who had seconds before burst through the wooden panel simply stood with the oddest look on his face, his sword at his side. The one at her mercy never even attempted to struggle; he, too, just looked at her.

  As fierce as the one standing looked, these were the most non-combative pair of fighters Celia could imagine.

  When she first reacted to the intruder, Celia had moved to protect the baby. No one was going to harm Kit. But now, looking at her captive and the warrior by the wall, she was at a loss. They certainly did not seem to be threatening her. And there was no indication that either one had any desire to go through the baby's door. No, they just gawked at her like a pair of oversized abbey schoolboys.

  Why, the giant by the panel almost looked entertained by what he was looking at. His amusement will cost this one his life, if he's not careful, Celia thought with annoyance.

  Oh, how she hated when she was not taken seriously. She should slit this one's throat and get some respect.

  Then Celia saw the look in his eyes change. He was looking at her, really looking at her. Suddenly she was very aware of the thinness of the gown she was wearing. The warrior's eyes seemed to look right through it as he surveyed every inch of her body. They paused with lustful intensity at her hips, breasts, and mouth as his gaze returned to her face.

  This man was despicable.

  But he was not going to get away with this.

  Celia waited until his eyes met hers, and then she slowly looked him over from top to bottom with a look of sheer disgust. Her smirking conclusion would hopefully convey an attitude of absolute scorn. What a worthless piece of old meat, she wanted her careless look to say.

  And it did.

  Colin realized that this woman was actually appraising him. Him, the future chieftain of the Campbell clan. One of the most powerful warriors in the Western Isles...in all Scotland!

  And she found him wanting!

  Anger began to simmer in the veins of the giant. No woman had ever looked at him with such disdain. And in his very own castle! This was too much. How could he have let his guard down so?

  And what was worse, he could see she knew that she'd rattled him.

  But worst of all, Alec Macpherson was watching the whole thing! The amused look on his face! Oh, God!

  Well, at least she didn't have a sword to his throat, Colin thought. But this all had to stop. Lord help them all if anything should happen to Alec while he was visiting Kildalton Castle. There would be real hell to pay with the Highlanders. Colin had to speak to her.

  With that, Colin unconsciously began to raise his sword and step toward the two on the floor before him. As he did, the woman raised her elbow, prepared to thrust her weapon into Colin's prone guest. She would kill Alec and be on her feet to face Colin before he reached her. The warrior stopped.

  “Wait!” he commanded, though the word seemed to soften as he said it.

  Celia shot a glance at Colin. His word rang with conciliation, yet his face showed fierce annoyance at the sound of his own voice. She had him, and it clearly irritated him that she did.

  Her face showed the dominance she felt. That image of her, kneeling upon
the chest of the vanquished foe was a startling one for Colin.

  Suddenly, a pounding at the hallway door was accompanied by the sound of Lord Hugh Campbell's voice.

  “Lady Celia, are you all right? Lady Celia!” he called. The old man's voice was quavering with concern.

  “Aye, Lord Hugh, but I have two intruders,” Celia shouted, keeping the giant in her peripheral vision while not taking her eye off the warrior beneath her. She was feeling a mixture of relief and pride at the moment's victory.

  But why wasn't the one by the panel making his escape?

  “Oh, my God!” she heard the old man roar, then shout down the hallway. “Runt, rouse Jean, Emmet, and Edmund, too, from the hall. Hurry, lad!”

  “Father!” Colin called, silencing the ruckus in the hallway. “Father, it's Colin.” His voice carried the steely edge of fury in it.

  “Colin?” the old man returned.

  “Aye. Colin. And Alec Macpherson, too. If he doesn't get murdered where he lies.” Colin scowled at this she-devil with contempt in his eyes. Whoever or whatever this woman was, she had overstepped the bounds of a decent defense.

  Celia yanked the sword point away from her captive's throat and, with a look of dismay at Colin, scampered across the room for her cloak, ruffled for a moment at the turn of events. She felt a sudden desire to be covered.

  Colin watched with surprise this sudden display of timidity by the woman.

  Still watching the woman who now appeared to be cowering on the other side of the room, Colin offered Alec a hand up, then strode to the door and unbarred it.

  The door swung in, and Lord Hugh entered unceremoniously, dressed only in his nightshirt and holding a long sword in his hand. He was only slightly shorter than Colin, but as broad in the shoulders, and the scarred and weathered face of the old man told of a life of violence, care, and toil.