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The Highlander’s Destiny

Page 5

by Wine, Mary


  Their gazes met.

  Cora felt a ripple across her skin. It traveled along her limbs, raising gooseflesh as it went. Her breath caught, leaving her suspended in that moment as Faolan took the bread.

  Why did she notice so many small details about the man?

  It was so very strange. Yet she found herself fixated upon him. The way his eyebrows were inky black slashes. The blue of his eyes appeared intensified by how dark his hair was. She realized she was staring at him, and he was doing the same. There was a shuffling of feet around them as the men began to get antsy.

  Cora bowed her head.

  Faolan lifted the bread and spoke out a perfect blessing. It was short and clipped but done very well. No Head-of-House would have found fault with it. He tore the bread, handing one half to the man on his right and the other to her.

  Cora nearly dropped it. Only the ache in her fingers from working all day made her clench her fingers around it. Faolan’s lips twitched. Just a tiny amount before he looked away.

  “Well, now,” Gainor broke the silence. “There can be no faulting our chief. He did well with the blessing.”

  The other men agreed. The sound was muffled as they spoke through half-full mouths. They dug into the meal with the gusto of having a hard day’s labor behind them. Cora smiled, then hurried back to the kitchen, filling her tray with more dishes. Two of the younger lads followed her. They gathered up the remaining food and carried it to the tables.

  “Sit, lass,” Gainor declared. “Ye’ve earned yer supper, too.”

  One of the Retainers elbowed the man next to him, so that he slid down the length of the bench, clearing a space on the end next to Faolan. Several of the men grinned in welcome.

  Aye, they were rough.

  But one Retainer was filling a mug for her, while another used a wicked-looking dagger to cut a portion of meat from what she’d roasted and slapped it onto a plate. Every man within reach made sure to put something on her plate as it traveled along the table before landing in the spot they’d cleared for her.

  Truly, Cora didn’t think she’d ever sat down among a more welcoming group. It was more than courtesy. She’d earned her place by battling her own pride and doing the things needed, as opposed to what she wanted. She felt somehow more mature than she’d been just that morning. They were outcasts and men without powerful connections. They earned their bread with the sweat of their brows. So far from civilization, they enjoyed the freedom to speak their minds and make their own choices, for they had very little to lose. No one might have forced them to welcome her.

  Which made the moment, by far, one of the most satisfying ones of her life.

  *

  Rory Mackenzie saw the body first.

  Whoever it was, they were dead. Caught on a tangle of dead trees, face down in the river, which left no hope that there was life left in them.

  He slid from the back of his horse and set his jaw against the grim discovery he was about to make.

  “Rory!” Someone whistled from the opposite side of the river bank. He looked up, hoping to spy an honest miracle in the form of seeing Cora standing there with Clement.

  Instead, he counted three more of the Mackenzie Retainers. Clement was looking at Rory and the six men with him, and Rory didn’t need to see the look on Clement’s face to know that the other man had been hoping Cora was among them.

  That left them all looking at the body in the river. They’d had two lads riding with them. Both had been thin of frame. The body was slight enough; it might be either of the boys or Cora.

  There was only one way to know for certain.

  Rory made his way into the water. Without the storm raging, the current didn’t have the power to make it deadly. Clement was wading in from the opposite bank. They made slow progress. Stepping carefully as they sunk to thigh level at times. The pace only made the moment worse, allowing them more time to contemplate just how bad their luck had been. Rory reached out to move the tangled mass of hair away from the face.

  “Young Sorel,” Rory said at last. He hated how relieved he felt.

  Sorel had only been sixteen winters.

  The lad hadn’t deserved to die either, but Fate had decided otherwise. Weather could be vicious. It was something they all knew, for there was nothing about living in the Highlands that didn’t require strength.

  Yet the storm had been overly vicious.

  Rory shook his head. He schooled his thoughts and focused on the task of retrieving the body of his clansman. Aye, he craved an explanation for the tragedy, but sometimes the answer was just bad timing. A man might call it luck, but he wasn’t going to contemplate the matter further. Such would lead to speculation of demons and witchcraft. He’d never been a man to console himself through blaming others.

  But Rory didn’t have to.

  As they pulled Sorel to the shore and the men gathered round, the grumblings began. There was not one among them who wasn’t injured. Crushed fingers and gashed limbs were sprinkled liberally among them. Returning to the Mackenzie stronghold would have suited them all but not without their comrades.

  “Enough,” Rory raised his voice above the growing conversation. “It was a storm. I’ve lived long enough to have seen one or two like it.”

  “So early in the season?” one of the men asked pointedly.

  “We’ve enough grief without adding fear to the matter,” Rory cut back. “There will be no talk of witches and demons. Matters are grim enough.”

  “But, the raging of the storm was so wild.”

  “Ye have never seen the wind gust?” Rory responded. “I sure have, man, and the first storm of the season tears into the ground. I’ve seen it before. Let us find the rest of our party.”

  His men were obedient enough. They lifted Sorel onto the back of a horse and pulled a portion of his plaid over his face. Their horses had not fared any better than they had. Two were dead where the water had dropped them. Three more limped along, their eyes full of pleading to be taken back to a warm stable.

  But Rory pressed on. He couldn’t return to the stronghold without Cora. Even if that meant she returned over the saddle instead of sitting in it.

  *

  “Thank ye.”

  Cora froze. There was something about Faolan’s voice that just seemed to affect her deeper than anyone else’s had.

  He saved yer life…

  Or at least he’d assisted in making sure she didn’t die of exposure.

  He was in the doorway, filling it with his bulk. Cora straightened up, having just placed the bread for the next day near the coals of the fire with cloth wrapped over the bowls.

  “Supper was…” Faolan seemed at a loss for words. “It was a fine evening, to be sure. We have no’ had many such nights since coming here.”

  “The fare was simple,” Cora remarked.

  Faolan looked around the kitchen. “Yet it was clean. It’s not that I am blind to the condition of this kitchen, but I am tasked by Laird McKay to build these towers. And the women they send here are the ones who are being punished with banishment. So, they are less than diligent. Even more so when they see there are no good prospects among me men. The ones here are the ones without family connections to help them secure better duty. The others…? Well, I do nae have the time to discipline them.”

  “Oh,” Cora responded. The filth suddenly making far more sense.

  Faolan grinned at her. “Do nae be so astonished, lass. We might be a rough lot, but we are no’ savages who do nae understand what a lump of soap is good for. A clean house will mean naught if we do nae have walls to protect ourselves.”

  She looked at him once more, this time seeing the way his beard was cut and trimmed. His hair might be shoulder-length, but it appeared to have been combed and washed. He was simply using all of his attention on the building. The men had little reason to do anything else.

  She glanced at the hearth, and when she looked back to where Faolan had been standing, he was gone.

 
She shrugged, then turned to make sure the coals in the ovens were blanketed by ash to keep them slowly smoldering until the morning. A quick check in the copper ensured there was plenty of water in it to last until the morning. Dawn was a very bad time to discover there was no hot water in the kitchen. The remote tower might be rough, but it had a very large copper set into stone and plaster, so a fire might be laid beneath it. As far as essential items in a kitchen went, the copper was a cook’s best friend. Properly managed, it would always allow hands to be washed and dishes to be cleaned.

  The last thing she did was mix up a batch of what would become the following day’s bread. Helping hands would have been very appreciated, but on her own, it was well past sunset when she finished. Cora untied her apron and hung it on a hook before giving a very satisfied nod at the condition of the kitchen.

  The men were all clustered in the hall. A few were playing dice as the rest enjoyed being off their feet.

  Cora was looking forward to getting off her own. She’d rarely been so tired. Now that her mind was not brimming with tasks to complete, fatigue was rushing in consume her. The very act of walking to the base of the stairs seemed taxing.

  Well, there was a fine bed waiting for her. She grasped the rail and began climbing the stairs. She pulled at the end of the strip of fabric that she’d wound around her head and tugged it free while making her way up the tower. She smiled as the air hit her hair and the door of the chamber came into view.

  She opened the door and walked inside. The sight of the bed pleased her greatly. Moving closer to the table, she realized someone had filled the washbasin with clean water. Steam rose gently from a kettle, and a lump of soap was waiting near the basin along with a comb and a small square of linen to wash with.

  Aye, she’d truly taken too many things for granted before. The simplest of comforts laid out for her was more pleasing than all the pretty dresses she had stored in her wardrobes back in the Mackenzie stronghold. To be able to wash the soot from her face and nape before climbing into bed was going to be heavenly.

  But her gaze landed on something else sitting on the table beside the basin. A shirt was there, folded neatly and pushed to the edge.

  She suddenly looked toward the bed.

  How could she have forgotten it was Faolan’s bed?

  How?

  For all that she believed herself a woman fully grown, in that instant, she was certain she was about fifteen winters at best and back in the grip of that awkward time between childhood and her body changing into an adult.

  Cora turned around so fast her skirts spun out. Her feet made hard sounds on the floor as she all but ran toward the door. Thank Christ she’d come to her senses before making use of the wash water. It was there for Chief McKay.

  And so was the bed.

  She was through the door and down the first few steps before she controlled the urge to run. Her steps were echoing inside the stone walls. Cora forced herself to stop and draw in a few breaths. There was no need to appear at the bottom of the stairs looking like a startled virgin.

  The words suit ye well enough at the moment.

  Cora groaned and ordered her mind to behave. She grasped the rail and descended the rest of the steps.

  “Is there aught else ye require, Mistress?”

  Cora jumped and landed on the bottom of her skirt. Off-balance, she fell back and would have landed on her backside if Faolan hadn’t reached out to grasp her forearm. The connection between their flesh was jarring once more. It froze her breath as she locked gazes with him.

  How was it possible to be so very aware of another person?

  “Mistress?” Faolan inquired as she remained silent. “Where are ye thinking to go with the light fading?”

  Cora came to her senses in a rush. Heat flickered in her checks as she drew in a stiff breath and released her grip on his arm. Faolan took a moment longer before he opened his hand.

  “Best for ye to return abovestairs, lass.”

  His tone was low, but there was no missing the ring of authority in it. He’d straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the wall. Now, his bulky frame was completely blocking her path to the kitchen.

  “That is yer chamber.” Cora detested the way her voice came out in a near squeak. She swallowed and tried to gather up her composure. “I will sleep on the bunk in the kitchen.” She nodded. “Aye. Pray, forgive me for not thinking the matter through.”

  There were two bunks built right into the thick walls of the kitchens. It was a common enough arrangement for whoever was expected to rise first and begin making the morning porridge. A good position for many who didn’t want to worry about being warm, for the cooking fires would make certain the kitchens remained cozy throughout even the bitterest of winter nights. A roof overhead and a full belly. Common blessings in a world where life was often very harsh.

  “For now, ye will sleep abovestairs.” Faolan made his decision clear. He lifted his hand and pointed behind her. “Do nae appear down here until first light, Mistress.”

  His words were resolute. As was the hard bulk of his body placed so very solidly between her and the kitchen.

  “I cannae take yer chamber from ye, Chief McKay,” Cora argued. “I will sleep in the kitchen and be grateful.”

  “Ye are Laird Mackenzie’s sister,” Faolan spoke gruffly. “Propriety will be observed.”

  “Sleeping in yer bed is no’ precisely correct.”

  But she’d been there the night before.

  More heat blazed across the surface of her cheeks. She discovered herself immensely grateful for the growing darkness. Something about Faolan reduced her to a bundle of impulses. It was frustrating, to say the least.

  “It is the only bedchamber we have for the time being. So…” Faolan stepped closer to her.

  Too close, for her heart started hammering away.

  “Ye will turn about and return abovestairs now, Mistress.”

  Cora had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. Even in the poor light, she caught a flash of determination in his eyes. The awkwardness gripping her dissipated as something else flared up inside her.

  “I was out riding with me brother’s Retainers,” she explained firmly. “So, the kitchen will serve plenty well enough. Thank ye.”

  “Having women in close quarters is troublesome,” Faolan replied. “I do nae need to have reason to discipline one of me men.”

  There was a bluntness in his expression that she wasn’t blind to. Still, she just couldn’t find agreement in her.

  “I will no’ sleep in yer bed.”

  One of Faolan’s dark eyebrows rose. So close to him, Cora saw it clearly. A moment later, he was leaning over. She was still standing on the steps, which allowed him to put his shoulder against her belly. He captured her right arm and gave a firm tug. She tumbled over his shoulder before he straightened up.

  “Ye are going, Mistress,” Faolan declared as he took to climbing the steps with her hanging over his shoulder. “And ye are going now.”

  “Have ye gone mad?”

  Her words were half-muffled against his back. But her head was swaying as he moved, making her reach out and grasp his waist to stabilize herself.

  “Put me….” Cora landed on her back in the bed before she finished. The bed ropes creaked, and the mattress swayed as Faolan looked down on her. She started to struggle to sit up, but he reached out and clasped her wrists before pinning them to the surface of the bed.

  Christ, he was strong.

  Cora gasped, struggling against the knowledge of just how completely she was in his power. They were so close. Her senses felt keenly alert, as though she’d been going through her life only half aware until that moment. Now, her heart was pumping harder, her breaths coming faster, as she noted a hundred little details about him that she’d never really seen before on other men.

  “Yer brother indulged ye by allowing ye to ride with his men, and ye see what happened when circumstances became dire. Ye ended up fight
ing for yer life against the river,” Faolan spoke softly. There was emotion in his eyes that warned her he was being very serious.

  “Out here, I can nae afford ye the same leniency, lass,” he continued. “Me men are a decent lot, but ye would test their limits if circumstances brought ye together with one of them in the darker hours of the night.” His gaze settled on her lips for a moment. “Ye are temping, Cora.”

  The timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. The memory of them sharing the bed the night before surfaced, making her feel like her insides were melting. There was a strange twisting of her belly, and she felt like her lips were suddenly far too sensitive to bear. She craved something. Something she didn’t dare name.

  Faolan suddenly pushed away from her. The bed ropes groaned once more as he stood up and contemplated her.

  Cora sat up, pushing her hands behind her as her gaze remained fused with his.

  A moment later, he’d spun around. The longer pleats of his kilt swished back and forth as he walked, giving her a peek at his thighs.

  The door shut with a hard sound. She shook as she stared at the wood.

  *

  Virgin.

  Faolan tried to focus on the word. The trouble was, he was still seeing the way she’d looked at him.

  Like she wanted to try him.

  Christ.

  Cora was a virgin, but she was also the siren he’d first seen shaking her fist at the storm. Even tumbled and bruised, she’d spit in the eye of her tormentor.

  So it stood to reason that while he might intimidate her, she’d still jut her chin out at him.

  The problem was, he liked that boldness.

  Liked it far too much.

  Faolan stopped while he was still in the lower part of the stairwell. He drew in several deep breaths. He didn’t need his men to get a look at him. They already thought keeping Cora was a fine idea. With just a tiny bit of encouragement, they’d take to doing their best to push Cora into his path, and he honestly doubted his resolve.

  But he was beneath her.

  It was strange the way the idea bothered him. It was a fact that he’d enjoyed knowing he’d been born on the wrong side of the sheets, because it seemed to ruffle so many feathers. It wasn’t as if he’d committed the sin himself, but his life had been full of times when his illegitimacy had been thrown in his face.

 

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