by Paula Quinn
Alone with the stranger, she let her gaze rove over him, then dipped her fingers in the oil jar and reached for his shoulder. She’d never seen a naked man before, and never one with such lithe, sculpted muscles. Now that William was gone, she couldn’t help but bask in this stranger’s corded back, the broad flare of his shoulders, narrowing to his waist. Och, but he was glorious.
She touched her fingers to his skin and rubbed gently. He was hard and majestic like the mountains outside her window. She inhaled deeply and began again. The oil was melting from his body heat, or hers. She didn’t know which. She rubbed her palms over the expanse of his shoulders and down his long, sculpted arms, massaging the healing oil in. He felt strong and capable, and for a fleeting moment she wondered how his arms would feel around her. She came to his wrist, his hand and fingers. Was it wrong of her to take such delight in the calluses covering his palm, in the simple elegance of his fingers? Touching him stirred something in her that William had never roused.
She spread her curious palms over his back, careful not to touch his wounds, and then down to his waist and the soft upward curve of the top of his buttocks. Twice she had to wipe her brow and she even said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t wake up and catch her admiring him with her hands.
He had many scars—including two that looked recent, and a bullet hole say six to nine months old. His claymore and plaid identified him as a Highlander, and only the good Lord knew all the trouble Highlanders fell into. What was his name? What was he doing in Linavar? Where was his horse now? Had he been robbed for his beautiful stallion? Why had he been stabbed in the back and not in the chest? What had he been doing in her cabbage patch? All questions she hoped he would live to answer.
A little while later, William returned with Anne, who offered to help. Had Will fetched her because he wanted Temperance away from the handsome stranger? Was he jealous? He never had been before.
Temperance accepted the help, deciding it was best to stay away from the man. The last thing she needed was a distraction from her plans to kill Duncan and his men.
“Coming, Temp?”
She nodded and followed William out. The moment they were alone, William turned to her. “I don’t like that you might be aiding a Black Rider.”
“He’s not a—”
“You don’t know that. And the way your eyes go soft when you look at him, Temp.” He shook his head at her as if he didn’t know her at all.
“You’re not jealous, are you, William?” she asked curiously. “If I were your wife, which I’m not just yet, you’d have a right to feel as you do, but I’d still hate it.”
“I’m not jealous, Temp. But you are to be my wife, according to your father’s wishes,” he reminded her. He was trying to keep his voice steady and calm, but he was failing. “You’re my betrothed and I would prefer it if you didn’t fawn over a man who could possibly be part of the vile group of raiding bastards up in that castle.”
Fawn? She would deny it, of course! And damn it, she didn’t believe the poor man lying in her bed was part of Duncan’s group. If he needed help, she would give it. Despite William’s orders. “I tell you he isn’t a Black Rider. What you saw is plaid. He’s a Highlander, not a mercenary.”
He looked down at her with his beautiful brown eyes and she saw his heart there, the familiar. He wanted to keep her safe. “What if he is?”
She cut him a playful glance from beneath the sprays of her lush lashes. “If he is, then you can help me kill him.”
Chapter Five
She hadn’t promised William that she would stay away from the stranger, so finding herself alone with him in her room once again didn’t make her feel guilty.
This time she stared at him from a chair a few feet away. Someone had turned him on his side while she was away, exposing—in its full glory—the most beguilingly handsome face she’d ever come across, here or in Kenmore. The list of his pleasing attributes would take too long to consider at once. She let her sleepy gaze linger on the parts of him she hadn’t appreciated before, the weight of his brow, the alluring bridge of his nose, the lush black lashes that cast shadows over his cheeks.
What color were his eyes? she wondered while hers closed. She fell asleep watching him breathe, wondering who he was and why in damnation he had remained here long enough to get stabbed. She dreamed he was the prince of some faraway land traveling to Linavar for a wife. But soon her dreams of her handsome stranger changed into something else.
A man sat upon a fine stallion that didn’t so much as twitch beneath its rider’s strong thighs.
He wore a fur cloak and fine leather boots paid for by his master, Lord Murdoch. He looked deadly and moved with grace and authority that had been bred into him, rather than learned. His face was draped in black linen, like those of the rest of the killers around him. Were his eyes silver or was it just the moonlight glinting off them?
He nodded his regal head, like an emperor giving the order to kill. To kill her father.
He called out a word, over and over, but her father still died.
“Wait!”
Papa, wait!
She opened her eyes, her heart beating like a battering ram, a cry on her lips. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
“There, dove,” Gram comforted softly as Temperance woke from her fitful dream, “all will be well.”
How could she ever say such a thing after her only son had been killed? No, Temperance decided. It would never be well again. Never.
“Our patient’s fever seems to have broken,” Gram informed her, then shooed TamLin out of the bed and her granddaughter out of her chair. “He’s been moving. I suspect he’ll be waking up soon.”
“Gram?” Temperance said while she went to him. “Did you see the Black Rider who gave his approval for Father’s death? Was it Lord Murdoch?”
“’Twas dark.” Gram shook her head. “But even with the bonfires burning, I didn’t recognize him.”
Temperance nodded. It didn’t matter. She’d find out who he was eventually, and then she’d kill him. Right now, though, the man in her bed needed help. She stood over their patient, now lying on his wounded back. He’d need to be turned over again.
He felt cooler to the touch. Her gaze skidded over his mouth and she wanted to curse aloud at the fullness of it, even in deep rest. She’d kissed a few lads here and there. If she had to marry someone, he had to kiss well.
A decadent thought of kissing him, touching more of him, as by running her fingers down the muscles that defined his belly, made her feel flushed, and somewhat traitorous since she didn’t know him… and he was unconscious.
“Have you and William set a date yet?” Gram’s voice and her question dragged Temperance’s attention off the full view of the stranger’s face.
She turned her back to Gram and reached for his ointments.
“Temperance?” Gram asked from the chair.
“After Hogmanay.”
“Ye still don’t wish to marry him?” Gram asked, obviously hearing the hopelessness in her granddaughter’s voice.
Temperance shrugged her shoulders. There would be much talk of her wedding in the coming days. Somehow she would get through it.
She hadn’t spoken to Gram about her plans of revenge. Her grandmother would try to talk her out of it and forbid it. But there was still a chance of not having to marry a man she wasn’t in love with. If she failed she would marry William to keep Gram safe. “My days of wishing are over,” she told her grandmother, turning back to her. “I’ll do what I must do.”
“Good. We need a man around here to help with the work.”
“I know.” Temperance picked up one of Gram’s containers and proceeded to apply ointment to the stranger’s wounds. Better to just agree for now. “’Tis just that I feel like a prize horse on display. Men, some of them mere boys”—she cast the older woman a scathing glance that she had never truly mastered—“come here to eat and see what kind of wife I’ll make. I…”
�
��Ye are no prize, dear.” Her grandmother said with a light chuckle.
Temperance tossed her a sour smirk. “I know that, Gram. I only meant…”
“Alric of Ayr was ten and seven. Old enough to marry. Ye had refused to marry William because ye didn’t love him and the threat of the lord’s son wasn’t as serious as it has become. I thought to help ye find a man ye love.”
“He is two years younger than me, Gram. You—”
Gram held up her palm, stopping her. “Just because ye’re fair of face, do not think everyone wants only ye.”
“I never said—”
The elder cut off her words yet again. “Men are not lined up outside this door. I practically had to beg William to sup with us. Ye are a delight to me but ye may end up alone with that sharp tongue and stubborn will of yers.”
“And what is so wrong with that?” Temperance asked her.
“Child”—Gram eyed her lovingly—“ferget safety. Ferget everything else. Do ye truly want to be alone fer the rest of your life? Ye know yer grandfather, my beloved John, died and left me a young widow to raise yer father alone. ’Twas a difficult life. I don’t want that fer ye. Ye’re ten and nine, ye know. Ye’re not getting any younger.”
“I know, Gram,” Temperance told her quietly. “But I want to love passionately when I wed. Is that so wrong?”
“Nay, dove, it’s not wrong at all. But we live in a harsh world. Yer father protected ye as best he could from Duncan Murdoch, but Seth is gone and we must continue to watch over each other.”
Because Temperance loved Gram more than she wanted her own way, she put stubborn defiance aside and managed a smile.
“When has William agreed to come?”
“Any moment now,” Gram informed her.
“What?” Temperance turned to the window. “’Tis suppertime? How long have I been asleep?”
“Who’s counting hours?” Gram asked her. “Ye’re having a trying time and rest is good fer ye.”
“And for you,” Temperance replied, realizing that Gram had cooked supper alone. “You’ll go straight to bed when supper ends and William leaves. I’ll tend this poor soul while you rest.”
Gram narrowed her eye on her. Temperance was tempted to turn away again, familiar with the power of Gram’s scrutiny.
“After ye sit for a time with William at the table.”
Temperance nodded, knowing what she needed to do. “I’ll make you proud of me, Gram. I will be irresistible.”
“Temp,” her grandmother said, rising to leave the room, “ye have enough pride in yerself fer both of us. Irresistible!” She laughed, and behind her Temperance smiled.
She knew Gram was teasing her. Gram’s mind was still as sharp as a well-loved sword. And she enjoyed keeping it honed on her granddaughter. She’d obviously noted Temperance’s blushing over the man a moment ago and she clearly intended to put an end to any foolish fancies Temperance might be dreaming up.
“We know William,” she called out, reminding her granddaughter over her shoulder before she left. “We don’t know this man. Give William yer attention, aye?”
“Aye,” Temperance called back in a soft voice. William was her dearest friend and aye, she might have believed she was in love with him once, a long time ago, when all the girls began to notice the extraordinary depth and beauty of his dark eyes. But the playful banter and the—almost kissing, but not, made her love for him change to the purely unphysical. There was no all-consuming heat scorching the air between them. There never had been. William knew it, that’s why he’d never tried to kiss her. She loved him, but the thought of marrying him made her feel ill.
“Patrick!”
The stranger’s voice startled her. She put aside her ointments and comforted him. “There now. There,” she whispered while TamLin curled up in the crook of the stranger’s side.
He didn’t wake up, but she had quieted him down. Her soothing voice slowed his breath and his heart.
Who was Patrick? His brother? The man who’d stabbed him? She hadn’t noticed anyone else with him when she’d run into his horse. He’d been alone. But if Patrick was the stabber, it would mean the stranger had to know him.
When he grew agitated again, she whispered into the dark hair falling over his ear. This time he didn’t grow calmer. She tried applying more ointment and singing an old Christmas hymn to him. She sang of the strong, sturdy hands of the master builder, then looked down to find that she was holding the stranger’s hand, gently rubbing ointment into each of his broad fingers and into his palm.
At the same instant she became aware of her boldness she also felt his eyes on her. He’d awakened and was staring at her in silence while she sang. TamLin purred at the ends of his fingers, which slowly stroked her.
“You’re awake,” Temperance said softly, happy that he was. The eyes she’d wondered about were huge and wide set, the color of an icy sea. She smiled, completely beguiled by his gaze. Poor man. Who was he? Who had stabbed him in the back? She didn’t want to question him now. He needed rest.
He didn’t speak, nor did he return her smile. He just stared at her, looking confused and pained by more than his wounds.
“You’re safe now,” she promised. “All will be well with you.”
He looked away from her, as if he didn’t believe it, or he didn’t want to. He closed his eyes and went to sleep once again.
William Deware arrived as expected. Gram made Temperance open the door and invite him in. She felt foolish. William had been to the manor house more times than either of them could count. He looked especially handsome tonight, dressed in black breeches and a cream-colored shirt, belted at the waist and flared at his hips. She knew she should be grateful that a man like William would consider her as a wife when he had so many others to choose from. He held out a bunch of purple winter irises. She was grateful for him.
But her heart accelerated because of someone else. God help her, she was betrothed and she couldn’t get an unconscious stranger out of her head. As big and fit as the Highlander was, there was something about him that tore at her heart, especially when he’d set his eyes on her, as if he’d been through something very difficult. It made her feel a certain kinship with him. Did he have a family he was missing, a wife who’d claimed his heart and all that chiseled body? And why in blazes was she hoping he didn’t? She was attracted to him, both physically and emotionally. William would likely hate her if he knew her thoughts.
“I know you like heather,” her dearest friend offered, stepping inside with her, “since you’re always prancing around in it.” He laughed shortly. “But winter heather is dry and when I tried to pick it, it fell apart in my hands.”
Prancing? He did see her as a horse then, prize or not. “Aye, William,” she said, her smile as bright as the bouquet she held to her nose. “It takes a certain kind of man to handle heather. Mayhap you’ll learn one day.”
Gram pinched her side and Temperance yelped. William laughed, and all was back to normal. Except it wasn’t.
There was a man in her bed who’d stilled her heart for just a moment, though William hadn’t claimed it entirely.
What was his name? She wanted to hear how it sounded, how it felt coming off her lips.
She remembered crashing into his horse and how quickly he’d leaped from the saddle to aid her. She remembered his plump, pouty mouth and his strong dimpled chin. His warm breath against her face and the depth and silky cadence of his voice when he’d spoken to her had melted her bones.
M’ heart aches at yer loss.
His sympathy had been so genuine it had almost brought her to the point of crying hysterically all over again.
She ate Gram’s delicious roasted-quail-and-squash soup served with fresh bread and honey, with wine to wash it down, and did her best to keep the brawny Highlander out of her thoughts.
She hated herself for having let her and William’s relationship go sour. He was a good friend and he deserved more than her sitting here wishing she
were back in her room with someone else.
“’Tis nice to spend time with you again, William,” she told him. “I feel like we—”
A shout erupted from her room. She looked toward it and took off without a word to Gram or William.
She reached the bed first. “He’s burning up, Gram!” she called out, loudly, so that wherever Gram was she’d hear and reply.
“Rags soaked in my bark oils!”
Temperance hurried to fetch what she needed while Gram called out more instructions. William watched from the doorway for a moment, then, knowing what was right and doing it, helped Temperance in her tasks.
The terrible heat inside their patient lasted hours, with him coming to and falling away again. Once or twice he opened his eyes, and Temperance found herself soothing him, softly and with tenderness. Finally, after much moaning and cries of delusion, the fever peaked. It took the three of them, Temperance, Gram, and William, and all the strength they could muster to roll him enough to change his bedding. He couldn’t lie soaked in his own sweat and risk getting another fever.
They tended him until the next morning, while he slept and fought the demons in his dreams.
Chapter Six
Cailean was in hell.
His body was consumed by flames. They came from within and without, scouring his blood, searing his thoughts and his mind.
He didn’t remember how he’d arrived where he was, but he knew who had probably put him here. Duncan Murdoch. The lord’s jealous child had finally grown some bollocks and had killed him. Cailean knew Duncan wanted him dead. And Duncan had proven with Seth Menzie the power he gave to his hatred. Now he’d proven it with Cailean as well.
He was dead.
But the fires of hell? He didn’t want to believe it. He knew he hadn’t lived an exemplary life, but had he done anything deserving eternal damnation?
The heat drove him mad, but the real torture was that every once in a while he was dredged up out of the burning pit and allowed to refresh himself in the presence of an angel. She sang to him and carried him out of the dark pit. Instinct made him reach for her, a dark and dusty part of his heart wanted to go to her, stay with her while she soothed his roiling soul. No. He didn’t want anyone else in his life. He wouldn’t allow himself to let anyone else in. Never again. But who was she? Was she real?