Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Gare frowned when a chorus of bogus snores ensued.

  His friend was up to something, and it wasn’t any good.

  The dog also turned his massive shoulders to them, his great head facing the wall. Rarely had Troll been so courteous. He hardly ever gave Gare privacy, most times sticking to his side like a burr to wool.

  “There is something amiss with him.” Gare crossed his arms, thinking.

  They had a long trek before them. Duncan MacKenzie’s Eilean Creag Castle, a stronghold on the other side of Kintail, stood nearly to the Isle of Skye. Great, rocky peaks raged between, an arduous journey for beast and man. Even huge and strong as Troll was, he’d tired quickly if they set off with Troll not having eaten.

  “It’s no’ like him to ignore food.” Gare turned back to Mairi, himself ready to run a hundred heather miles naked and starving just to be far from her. The ravening hunger she stirred in him, the almighty attraction he felt for her. “Have you aught else he can have before we go? I’m thinking he ate so much stew last night, he’s after something else. Aye, that’ll be the way of it.”

  “Could be…” She glanced at Troll, began tapping her chin. “I do have some sliced roasted capon. It’s good, plump meat if he’ll eat it.”

  “That will do.” Gare nodded. “Troll loves chicken, any way it’s prepared. Perhaps you can spare a bit for our journey?” He didn’t like asking, but Troll’s behavior concerned him. “He’d surely be glad for it, however much you can do without.”

  “I’ll fetch it now.” She moved away, the emptiness she left behind hitting him like a fist to the gut – even though she’d only crossed the room.

  “Sweet lady,” he called after her, the endearment leaping from his tongue, his words having a will of their own, speaking without his consent. “I’d ask a boon for myself, if you’ll allow me?”

  She turned back to him, a small packet of roasted capon slices in her hand. “I would deny you nothing,” she said, her gaze solemn. “You may take anything of mine that you desire, if you chose to ask.”

  She stood straight, her sapphire eyes blazing into his, seeing everything he was sure. Her words, the double meaning of them, set him like granite. Indeed, he wanted her fiercely. Never had a woman affected him so powerfully.

  And with only a few words and a direct look from her knowing eyes.

  Gare drew a tight breath, everything in him straining, ready to break. “When we spoke last night,” he finally managed, giving voice to the other need that plagued him, the one he could address in honor, “you didnae say why the talk of your powers started? All legends and myths have a seed of truth.

  “Before I leave, I’d hear why folk bestowed you with such claims.” Tell me true, and quickly. If you dinnae, my other need will win and I will grab you to me, damning us both.

  “It is a sad tale.” She placed the capon on her table, clasped her hands before her. “I will share it if the telling interests you.”

  “It does.” Gare thanked the gods she didn’t come forward, that she remained across the room.

  She smiled, but it was a distant smile, and fleeting. “Let me first pour you ale, for it may take some time for me to finish.”

  So she did, filling not one cup, but two. And outside, the sun burned away the last few curls of mist, bathing the glen in cold autumn light.

  ~ * ~

  “Come walk with me. I’d rather not speak of such things in the broch’s shadows.” Mairi stepped past him into the morning, leaving him no choice but to follow if he wished to hear her tale.

  It was a cold, brisk autumn day and the wind wailed through the glen as always. But the sky held patches of blue and the burn sparkled brightly, as if some great hand had cast diamonds across the clear, rushing water. The many rocks seemed to smile at her, greeting her as the friends she’d come to think of them. Even the tinkle of the burn was a joy, like the laughter of faeries, caught in a sunbeam.

  For all the bleakness around her, she loved the Glen of Winds, and felt a deep attachment. How sad that she’d leave here for the man coming after her, yet he would shun such a sacrifice, returning alone to his Blackrock Castle.

  She stopped beside the burn, the rush of the water calming her.

  Faery magick.

  Or just the cold, clean wind off the falls.

  Most days such things soothed her. But now only one man lingered in her mind. She could think of nothing else.

  Any moment he would reach her, his long-strided steps bringing him to her across the rocky, broken ground. Then he was there, stopping beside her, his face wary as he glanced about her sanctuary.

  “The mist is gone,” he said, voicing what she knew.

  “So it is.” She slid a glance at him, a grievous error.

  He was staring at the far end of the glen, his gaze on the shining waters of one of the waterfalls that gushed down the higher cliffs. The glen’s shrieking winds dampened the roar of the falls, but it was clear that he was awed, that he appreciated the splendor.

  Would he look at her so raptly?

  If she were to disrobe here and now and offer him everything she had?

  Don’t leave. Not yet. Give me a chance to make you mine.

  “You see why I don’t mind being here.” She reached out and stroked his arm, letting her fingertips glide over his arm rings, drawing his attention. Touching him was the one thing she shouldn’t do, but she couldn’t help herself. “If I had to leave Drumbell, this is a good place.”

  “It is no’ fine place for a woman alone.” He turned to her, gripping her elbows. “I am troubled to know you here.”

  “It is a better refuge than anywhere else.” She lifted a hand, held her hair against the wind. “The souls of the doomed do race through here. I have heard and seen them, I know they are real. Many fear them, so most will not come this way.

  “That dread keeps me safe.” She held his gaze, wanting to remember his face, every line and angle. How his dark hair caught the light, the strands shining in the sun. “Folk will mourn lost loved ones, but few want to meet their spirits.”

  “Yet there isn’t a banshee?”

  “Not that I’m aware.” She studied the sensual slant of his mouth, how the morning sun also touched his beard, making it glisten. “Perhaps there was such a washer woman here, long ago?” She glanced aside at the rushing burn. “This would be a good place for a banshee to wash the bloodied shirts of those marked to die, to wail and moan in sorrow for them.”

  “I would hear of you, no’ this glen and its legends.” He touched her cheek, lifting her chin with one finger. “What started the tales that you have the power to bring the dead back to life?”

  “Because I did.” Mairi told him plain.

  “So it is true?” Something flickered in his eyes. “I’d thought you must have special gifts. You are a maid like no other I have known.”

  “I have told you, I am not a maid.” She adjusted her shawl, felt a prickle of ill ease. She didn’t want to disappoint him. Not because she was a woman of passion, no longer pure. But because she could tell he suspected she’d used an enchantment to snare his desire.

  That he wanted her stood clear.

  Hadn’t she felt the hard ridge of his arousal when he’d kissed her?

  She had, no mistaking.

  As he was leaving, she doubted that she’d be confronted again by his rock-solid need, however much she might wish otherwise. So she’d do what remained, and speak honestly.

  “Just as I am village born and not of higher blood, nor does a witchy magick run in my veins.” She drew a deep breath, her love for the aunt and uncle who’d raised her shoring up her pride, steeling her backbone.

  She stepped away from him, went to the burn’s edge. “What happened had nothing to do with wonders or a miracle. It was years ago at a Lughnasadh harvest fair. I was walking past the food stalls, trying to decide what I wanted for my lunch. A wee lad was eating a meat pie when he choked. He’d gone red, his eyes streaming as he fell to the
ground, unable to breathe.

  “I was closest to him, so I grabbed him into my arms, clutching him tight as I ran about, searching for his parents.” She looked down into the burn’s clear water, seeing the scene again. “They came rushing up to me as I pressed him to my chest.”

  She looked up then, not surprised to find Gare beside her. “Perhaps it was more the gods not wanting to claim such a young soul, than anything I’d done. Whatever the reason, before I could release my grip, he stirred in my arms, coughing loudly and then gulping great breaths of air, his life returned.”

  “I can see why folk would credit you with miracles, especially at a Lughnasadh fair where the old gods are honored, ancient magick in the air.” He stepped closer, stroked her hair back from her face. “In truth, folk were right to laud you for saving the lad.”

  “I am glad I was there.” She was. She’d do the same again, even knowing how the deed would change her life. “That winter, something else happened. A small loch at Drumbell had frozen and villagers were using bone skates to glide across the ice. It cracked and a girl fell in, disappearing into the freezing water. She was pulled out, but it took too long and by then it was clear she’d drowned.

  “The lads who’d drawn her from the loch placed her on their plaids at the water’s edge and I was fetched, folk believing I could bring her back to life.”

  Mairi shivered and rubbed her arms against the chill spreading inside her. For sure, she’d aided an innocent young girl that day, but it was also the deed that brought her the wrath of Sorcha Bell.

  “What did you do?” Gare’s dark gaze slid over her, something in the way he was looking at her making her fear she’d break when he left the glen. “I see no sorceress before me, but a beautiful woman with an open, generous heart. The folk in your village should have honored you.”

  “Oh, they did.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “For whatever reason, I somehow revived the drowned girl. Perhaps she wasn’t truly gone? I’ll never know. I can only tell you that I acted on instinct, pure fear for her life and a burning wish to aid her. I knelt beside her, listening for a heartbeat, feeling for her pulse, but there was none. Her skin was cold and blue. She wasn’t breathing so I set my hands on her breast, pushing hard, again and again, trying to force her lungs to work.

  “They didn’t, so I leaned down and blew my own breath inside her, thinking that perhaps my breath would sustain her, make her again pull in her own. She did, her eyes popping open as she gasped and sputtered.” She paused, another great chill flashing down her spine. “Around us, the good folk of Drumbeg cheered, crying with joy for the lass, praising me as a wonder healer.

  “I have never seen such jubilation.” She hadn’t, though at the time she’d never guessed the ramifications. “One soul stood apart, glaring at me with such venom that the heat of her hatred scorched my bones.”

  Mairi’s stomach roiled with remembering. “She was the village hen wife, a healer of great renown in those parts. Her name was Sorcha Bell. She’d never liked me, never cared for another healer who might earn more praise and respect. She resented others who worked with herbs and potions, understood the old ways and the power of the moon.

  “And that day…” She paused, shuddering. “I’d knew made her a mortal enemy.”

  “She is why you became the Glen of Winds banshee?” The fierce look on Gare’s face said he already knew.

  Mairi nodded anyway. “She had a vicious temper. It annoyed her when villagers called at my cottage, asking for herbs from my garden, a salve or healing tisane. After the lad at the harvest fair and the lass in winter, her resentment worsened. She claimed I was the devil’s bride.

  “Then when I lost Clyde…” She didn’t finish, the words snagging in her throat, her eyes burning. “I told you what happened. She turned the village against me. I fled Drumbell and have been here since. Perhaps I should have stayed and faced her, but I am yet young, and” – she lifted her chin, barely seeing his face for the shimmer of tears – “I am passionate, see you? I wanted to live.”

  “Sweet lass…” His eyes darkened then and he reached to cradle her face, lowering his head. “You are more than passionate and-”

  “No more kisses.” Mairi raised both hands, holding them before her as she backed away. “The mist will roll in again when the light starts to fade from the sky. I want to be alone when that happens. I’m asking you to leave now.”

  He frowned, but made no move to come after her. “Is that truly your wish?”

  “It is.” Never. Come with me to the broch. Lie in my arms on my bed of furs.

  Be mine forever.

  “So be it.” He nodded, his face grim. “I will fetch Troll and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I thank you.” Mairi’s heart stammered.

  But it didn’t matter. All that did was that Gare and his dog left as swiftly as possible and that they kept a good pace over the hills. She wanted them faraway by gloaming, so distant that they wouldn’t hear her weeping.

  Her cries for them to return.

  Chapter Seven

  Gare stopped outside Dunwynde, letting Mairi enter before him. The walk from the burn had opened his eyes, showing him why he’d reached for her, the reason he’d almost kissed her again. It wasn’t Mairi MacKenzie who’d spelled him. The strong emotions thrumming in his veins had nothing to do with how she’d melted into him when he’d held her. Nor was it the way she’d run her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, clutching him with such stunning female need.

  None of that had aught to do with the power of feelings raging inside him.

  It was this place.

  The Glen of Winds.

  So much savage grandeur played havoc with a man’s soul, quickening his blood. For sure, the hills around Blackrock were also grand, the great mist-drenched peaks even mightier, their mass impressive enough to stir any man’s heart. But he’d scarce ventured beyond his stronghold in recent years, a sequestering that made him appreciate the Glen of Winds’ splendor more than he would’ve otherwise.

  He wasn’t sure.

  He just knew the thunder of falls and the sun glinting on the burn affected him. On the higher ground, the mauve and purple of heather gleamed in the clear autumn light, while the ever-present wind carried the earthy-sweet scent of Mairi’s peat fire.

  What man wouldn’t reach for a bonnie lass on such a fine, luminous morn?

  His urge to kiss her had nothing to do with her great blue eyes or how the slanting sunlight limned her with gold, drawing attention to the fine womanly shape of her, or the sheen of her raven hair.

  Gare’s heart hammered. He sent another glance down the glen, his pulse quickening even now as his gaze moved over the sheer crags and rushing cataracts, the wind-tossed birches along the glen’s high rock-sided edges.

  No man could deny such glory.

  And when had he become so adept at spinning fables?

  All the splendors of Scotland paled beside the woman who’d just slipped into the shadows of the half-ruined broch.

  The glen hadn’t made him want to kiss her.

  She had.

  And she’d entranced him with much more than her sweetly turned ankles and the gloss of her hair. He wanted her in ways he’d never desired another woman. A truth that didn’t surprise him because she was, after all, unlike every other female he’d ever known.

  Gare heaved a great sigh, heard the wind picking up, whistling through the trees. He’d promised to leave by gloaming. Now he wished he was already gone, well over the hills and away.

  He’d go at once, putting distance between them before his heart overrode reason.

  At a brisk pace, he could be at Eilean Creag Castle by nightfall. He’d toss Troll over his shoulder and carry the beast if he wearied.

  He only needed to fetch Troll.

  Before he could, Mairi appeared in the broch’s doorway.

  “Troll hasn’t still eaten.” She glanced over her shoulder, looking worried.

/>   “That cannae be.” Gare stepped past her into the broch, scarce able to see in the dimness after the morning’s bright light.

  Even so, Troll’s great bulk was unmistakable, sprawled so listlessly beside the broch’s central fire. Only a few steps away, his large bowl of stew winked from beside the wall, the contents piled as high as ever. Cold, congealed, and wholly untouched.

  “He’s ne’er gone so long without eating.” Gare frowned at the dog, not surprised that his eyes glowed demonic red in the firelight.

  For sure, he was up to something.

  Too bad, Gare was having none of it. He wouldn’t be outfoxed by a dog.

  “I dinnae believe he’s ill.” Nae, he knew he wasn’t.

  Ailing dogs didn’t wear sly expressions.

  “I don’t know…” Mairi bit her lip. “It’s never good when an animal doesn’t eat.”

  Nae, it isnae. But no’ for the reasons you’re thinking.

  “Do you still have the roasted capon from earlier?” Gare remembered the treat she’d retrieved. “Or is it already packed with the other provender?”

  “It’s here.” She went to the table, the new birch leg gleaming silver in the dimness. She indicated the cloth-wrapped package, opened now to display the succulent breast slices within.

  “I’ve been trying to hand feed him, but he only turns his head away, refusing even a bite.” She took a small piece, went to kneel beside Troll. “Here, laddie,” she offered, holding it out to him. “Just a wee taste for me, please? Only one and I’ll leave you be.”

  Troll didn’t blink.

  Nor did he turn his big furry face away from her outstretched hand.

  He pinned a look on Gare and gave the most pitiful moan to ever cross his doggie lips. Then he rolled onto his side, showing them his back.

  “He must be ill.” Mairi left the capon tidbit on the floor beside Troll’s head and straightened, dusting her hands. “Clyde stopped eating, too, not long before-”