“I’ll repair the table before I leave,” he offered, wishing he could do more. He turned back to Mairi, his scowl worsening to see that she’d dropped to her knees beside his dog and had wrapped one arm around Troll’s massive shoulders. She appeared to whisper soft words into the beast’s ear. “My regrets that doing so will delay our departure,” he added, noting Troll’s sly, one-eyed glance.
“It shouldn’t take long.” He’d make certain. “We can be away before gloaming.”
“As you wish.” Mairi didn’t look at him, her attention on Troll who’d stretched out at her feet, freeing his furry belly for rubs. “Perhaps we can roll in one of the larger rocks, jam it beneath the table?”
She looked at him then, her suggestion spearing his heart. “Such would serve well.”
“Nae, it willnae.” Gare was outraged.
“I wouldn’t mind.” She stroked Troll’s chest, scratched beneath his chin. “As long as the table doesn’t wobble, it will be fine.”
“You shouldnae be eating at such a crude table at all.” His opinion came more harshly then he’d intended, but she unraveled his wits, made him think and behave in ways that were so unlike him he scarce knew himself since he’d entered her windy, rockbound glen.
“Truth is,” - he stalked over to tower above her and his dog – “I cannae believe a man like Duncan MacKenzie would allow his kinswoman to sit at such a poor excuse for a table. Aye, he disappoints me.”
“He isn’t to blame.” She spoke quietly, pushing to her feet and smoothing her skirts as she met his irritated gaze. “My laird would’ve carted all the luxuries of Eilean Creag Castle to Dunwynde had I allowed him. We even argued about it, but his lady wife took my side.”
Gare looked at her, more confounded than ever. “She wished you to live so poorly?”
“Nae.” She shook her head. “She wished me to live.”
Moving away from Troll, she re-latched the door hanging, then dusted her hands. “Lady Linnet agreed with me that a procession of comfortable furnishings being transported clear across Kintail would’ve drawn attention. My reason for being in this glen was and remains that no one knows I am here.
“The goods in this broch,” - she gestured round at the meager household – “all came from a small shepherd’s hut in the next glen. Everything you see was brought over the hills or along low-lying burn channels either at night or under cover of dark, fog-drenched days.”
“I see.” Gare did, much as he didn’t care for her needing such precautions.
An equally great concern was why her plight troubled him so.
“I see you do like dogs.” He sought a safer topic as he moved to help her straighten Troll’s mess, for she’d begun gathering the shards of her broken earthenware. “Most ladies would no’ be so tolerant of such antics.”
“I told you I have a heart for dogs,” she said, dropping a bowl half into the small wicker basket she held. “Troll reminds me of one I had at my home, Drumbell village. I loved him dearly and ache for him still.”
She bent to pick up another bit of broken pottery. “I lost him less than a year ago. His name was Clyde, for he was found there as puppy, abandoned on the banks of the River Clyde, just outside the great city of Glasgow. A wandering family of no clan ties passed through Drumbell, staying for a few nights, telling tales and playing pipes and fiddles in exchange for pallets, ale, and meals.
“When they left, they forgot Clyde.” She paused, drew a deep breath, swiped at her cheek. “I do miss him.”
“He looked like Troll?”
“He did, very much.” She glanced at the dog, her eyes suspiciously bright, her voice catching.
Gare felt like an arse.
He wasn’t actually sure why, but he did. He also felt other things and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore them. Worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“I am sorry, lady.” Closing the short space between them, he drew her into his arms, holding her close, wanting only to comfort her.
“So am I…” She didn’t finish, leaning into him so that he felt a tremor ripple through her.
“I cannae think of losing Troll.” He ran his hands up and down her sides, settling them on her shoulders, tightening his grip just enough to soothe her. He hoped. Unfortunately, feeling her warm softness pressed against him was a pleasure he hadn’t known in so long. Even more disturbing, he didn’t just feel her lush, pliant body crushed to his, he had the oddest sense that she was somehow becoming a part of him. As if her heart and soul were flowing into him, melding with his to leave an indelible imprint on him.
A branding, a claiming, he suspected would remain. And not just for the duration of his journey home to Blackrock, but all his living days.
“It is hard to lose a good friend.” He drew her closer, resting his cheek against the crown of her sleek, raven hair as he slid a glance at Troll.
The great hairy lump ignored him, his eyes tightly shut as he gave a loud, fluting snore. It was a noise so painfully fake that Gare would’ve thrown back his head and roared with laughter under any other circumstances.
As things stood…
Sons of Odin, he was kissing Mairi’s brow!
Gare straightened at once, releasing her as if she’d turned into a grizzly-chinned, wart-nosed crone. He hoped to the gods she hadn’t noticed the kiss. It was bad enough that he had, the warm silk of her skin still haunting his lips, the fresh clean scent of her hair playing havoc with his senses, stirring his manhood.
Across the room, Troll rolled onto his side, craftily showing them his back and treating them to more phony snores, giving them privacy.
Gare shoved a hand through his hair, sure he’d run mad.
He was also doomed.
He’d sought Mairi MacKenzie hoping she would work her magick so that he could cast the shackles from his heart, so he’d make Lady Beatrice a good and worthy husband.
Now, gods help him, he had a new reason not to want to marry the Burnett heiress.
One he couldn’t consider.
***
“Clyde is the reason I am here.” Mairi chose her words carefully, hoping her tone didn’t reveal that his unthinking kiss to her brow had unsettled her so greatly.
“Your dog?” He’d started pacing, but stopped now, turning to look at her. He sounded puzzled.
She wasn’t surprised. “In a way he brought me to this place, aye. Like as not, I’d still be at Drumbell if he hadn’t died.”
Uncomfortable beneath his gaze, she placed the basket of broken pottery beside the door and then took a heather broom from the shadows, proceeding to sweep her floor. She needed to busy herself, a task to occupy her hands lest they reach for him, trying to claim what she had no right to desire so fiercely.
“It was Clyde’s loss that turned the villagers of Drumbell against me.” She risked a glance at the big warrior, her breath catching to see he’d removed his plaid and was pulling off his mail shirt.
Praise the powers, he’d sought a darkened corner to do so, and that he’d turned his back. She didn’t want to see his naked chest, hoped he’d not strip down beyond the tunic she knew he’d be wearing beneath the mail.
“It was known how much I loved the dog.” She spoke quickly now, nerves making her rush. “Some claimed that if I had the gift everyone believed I could’ve worked a wonder to keep my pet alive.
“But he was old, it was his time.” She brushed along the wall’s edge, not really seeing what she was doing for the heat swimming in her eyes. It’d been long since she’d spoken of Clyde. It hurt to do so. Yet for some reason, she wanted this man to know how things stood with her. Why she’d come to this bleak, sequestered place.
She glanced at him again, found he was frowning at Troll. He’d folded and placed his plaid atop one of the baskets that held her clothes, and his steel-linked hauberk glimmered on the floor beside the basket.
Blessedly, he still wore his tunic.
The linen shirt hugged his powerful muscles, showin
g her every hard-hewn muscle of his chest and arms. She swallowed, wishing she hadn’t seen, but torchlight threw flickering shadows on the wall behind him, limning his strapping body, the pale light leaving no secrets. His broken sword was propped nearby, the halved blade reminding her why he was here, and of fates worse than hers.
But the dance of light and shadow also spilled across her bed of furs, and seeing him standing so close to her sleeping place made her pulse quicken, despite the grim truths she meant to tell him.
She wanted him badly, gods help her.
She tore her gaze away before he caught her looking at him. It was madness to do so. Everything about him proved a danger for her. She could even see a dusting of dark hair shadowed beneath the tunic’s cloth and her fingers ached to trace the arrowing pattern from his chest lower, straight down to his groin. Her blood heated, her belly fluttering. Determined to squelch such thoughts, she plied the broom with renewed vigor, whisking around the smooth rocks that circled her hearthstone, then moving on to poke the heather branches at the three legs of her stool.
If need be, she’d sweep all night, even cleaning the lower reaches of the broch’s circular walls.
“It was cruel for anyone to scold you for no’ saving a dog you loved.” Gare’s voice came from across the room. He sounded angry, which didn’t surprise her.
He was clearly a good man.
A landed noble, a chieftain and great warlord who cared about honor and believed that no one, whatever their station or what they may have done, should be treated unjustly.
Lady Beatrice Burnett was a lucky woman.
Mairi resented her greatly, which made her less goodly than her guest.
Sure her desire for him was earning her a place in hell, she raised the broom and took a few hefty swats at the leather door-curtain.
“I would have done anything to keep Clyde alive, given all I had, though the gods know it wasn’t much.” She could hardly see now, took blind swipes at the hanging. “My cottage at Drumbell was small, only slightly larger than this broch, though I’d taken care to make it a cozy and comfortable home. It was mine, inherited from my late aunt and uncle who raised me. Even loving my home as I did, especially my garden, I’d have surrendered it gladly to help Clyde.
“But there was nothing I could do.” She felt chilled, hard memories making her heart pound wildly. “I had no bat toes or newt’s eyes to mix into a potion for Clyde’s achy hips, no magical herb to restore his labored breathing. No powers to cast a miracle.” She paused, drew a long shaky breath. “I’ve told you I am as ordinary as anyone else, certainly unable to bring the dead back to life, or keep an old and weary dog from dying.
“You will have done what you could.” The rasp of a buckle warned that he was removing his sword belt.
“I did.” She closed her eyes, willed them to stop leaking.
Behind her, a dull thunk on the floor proved she’d guessed correctly about his belt. Her eyes snapped open, but she wasn’t about to turn around.
“Voices were raised against me, fingers pointed.” She moved down the wall, gripping the broom tighter, swishing the heather branches at nothing. “Many railed that I’d deceived them, that I’d boasted of powers I didn’t have. Yet I’d always argued the opposite, insisting I was only a village lass, capable of no more than knowing the right herbs to brew a tisane for a sore throat, or a sleeping draught.
“I tended my garden for a love of green, growing things. The feel of good, damp earth beneath my fingers, and the loamy richness I loved to breathe in.” She blinked hard, not wanting to swipe at her eyes again. “I enjoyed the harvest, sharing its bounty, helping those in need if I could.” She pressed a hand to her breast, inhaled deep. “Never did I use my garden to craft spells or harm folk.”
“That I know, lady.” He spoke again from the other side of the broch, his voice tight, even roughened.
“They called me a witch, saying Clyde had been my helpmate and without him, I was nothing. That I’d lost my powers with his death.” She stopped, setting the broom against the wall so she could dab her eyes with the edge of her shawl. “They wanted to stone and burn me. They-”
“They were fools.”
Mairi swung around, surprised to find him right behind her. How had he crossed the room so silently? For such a big, tall man, he moved with the devil’s own stealth. He also looked as dangerous.
“Lackwits the lot of them, and you, lady, are anything but ordinary. You are a prize beyond telling.” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against him as he rained a storm of kisses on her face and her throat. Then he groaned and slanted his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue inside and kissing her almost savagely.
Mairi clung to him, sliding her arms up and around him, gripping his broad, strong shoulders as she welcomed the onslaught. She twined her fingers in his hair, drawing him closer, her entire body melting when she felt the hard ridge of his arousal nudging her belly. Even through their clothes, she could feel the heat of him, the corresponding warmth at the center of her crying out to know him intimately.
It was madness.
Yet she couldn’t stop kissing him, feared she’d die if he tore his lips from hers.
Some crazed, wild-hearted part of her wanted to beg him to choose her, to forget Lady Beatrice and be hers. Staying with her at Dunwynde or taking her with him wherever he wished to go. As long as they heeded the powerful pull between them, she didn’t care.
Never had she been so roused from a mere kiss. Yet Gare kissed her unlike any other man she’d ever known. He devoured and drank of her, branding his passion on her as surely as if he’d seared his name across her heart. Her entire body quivered, the longing for more almost unbearable. He kissed as she’d known he would the moment she first saw him, and worse, as if he’d already claimed her lips a thousand times or more, and was only coming home.
That rightness terrified her, knowing he’d leave on the morrow.
She started to pull back, but he broke away first, his breath coming hard and fast. He shoved his hands through his hair, the look on his face a knife in her heart.
“By the powers, lass, I didnae mean for that to happen.” He stared at her, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what had come over him.
“My apologies.” He sounded sincere, but distant, as if he’d already pushed her from his heart. “I cannae say what came o’er me. There is just something about you. My wits are scattered since entering this glen. I am no’ myself here.” He paused, once again shaking his head. “It willnae happen again, you have my word.”
“It was only a kiss.” You branded me for all my days, perhaps beyond. “No harm came of it, and I enjoyed it, so you needn’t worry you shocked or tainted me.” Lifting her chin, she met his gaze, her own as proud as she could make it. “I’ve told you that I am not a lady. What I am is a woman and I have known a man’s touch. My blood runs thick and strong, and I am not shamed by passion.”
“You are a great lady, Mairi MacKenzie.” His voice was deep, still roughened by their kiss. “Any man would be proud to call you his own.”
I do not want any man. I wanted you.
She bestowed her coolest smile on him, prayed to all the gods, those known to her and any she hadn’t yet heard of, that he couldn’t see how she was breaking inside, bleeding from the heart, her soul weeping.
She’d loved before, or thought she had. Twice, if she counted her young husband-to-be, a fine farm lad taken from her by death before they could speak their vows. And her more recent lover, a lying, conniving sixth son of an impoverished knight who’d abandoned her to wed the daughter of a well-pursed Inverness merchant.
Now she questioned how she’d felt about either.
For regardless of Gare not wanting her, no matter what the emotion inside her truly was, she’d never known such a powerful, all-consuming draw to someone. It went beyond craving, yearning, and desire.
How foolish to think she could hold him so tightly that he wouldn’t be a
ble to let go?
That he wouldn’t want to?
That their kiss had slammed into him with the same ferocity as it had her.
“You, sir, should be glad we kissed so heatedly.” She flipped back her braid, silently thanking her every MacKenzie forebear for the steel in her backbone, the strength in her heart. “There can now be no doubt that Lady Beatrice will be a most pleasured bride.”
“Lass…” His voice held a note of sorrow, the anguish saying either how much he regretted kissing her, or that he longed to do so again, but wouldn’t.
She couldn’t tell.
When he didn’t move, made no attempt to reach for her, the answer was clear.
So be it.
Mairi hitched her skirts and brushed past him, going to a broad stone ledge on the wall where she kept a store of uisge beatha. She poured two measures, knocking back her own with a swiftness that would’ve made her chieftain proud. She carried Gare’s portion across the room, her chin high as she handed him the small cup.
“Drink, and then take your night’s rest,” she said, nodding as he tossed back the fiery spirits. “I want you gone before the morning light burns away the last of the glen mist.”
Turning, she went to her three storage baskets and lifted the lid on the largest, retrieving several clean, neatly folded woolen blankets. She placed two on another basket, and then shook out one, intending to spread it on the floor near the hearthstone.
But Gare was already at the door, his plaid draped over an arm.
“You needn’t make me a pallet, Mairi MacKenzie,” he said, guessing her intent. “I’ll sleep outside your door, wrapped in my plaid.”
“Wait, it’s a cold night, and the mist is damp…” She started forward, ridiculous guilt sluicing her. But he’d already stepped out into the darkness, the door’s leather curtain falling shut behind him.
Mairi sank onto the floor, only realizing that she’d sat beside his dog when the great furry beast stirred, resting his head in her lap.
He resumed snoring at once, falling back into a deep canine sleep, and seeming so comfortable she couldn’t bear to disturb him.
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