He pushed the memories aside before the accompanying stirrings at his loins could worsen into something more formidable. Better to think of the fabled ancients said to spin all the world’s dreams. And who, most annoyingly, were sworn to watch over Isobel’s clan.
Praise Odin, he’d heard enough fireside tales of the two to envision them. And the image of a tiny, wizened crone and a small, long-bearded man with an elfin face and a whirr of iron-gray hair swiftly chased all misplaced twinges of lust, clearing his mind.
He took a deep breath, relieved. “I ken the pair are half-mythic and-”
“Gorm and Grizel are real.” Isobel flicked a speck off her sleeve, her eyes gleaming with annoyance. “Their home, Tigh-na-Craig - House on the Rock – exists, as does Gorm’s Cave with its Pool of Truth. All tales about them are true. But they are peace-loving souls. Neither of them would use their spelling skills to do harm.” Looking up, she let her mouth curve into a challenging smile. “They wouldn’t plague anyone undeserving, that is.”
She eyed him boldly, implying that he should reap the full force of the fabled pair’s witchery.
“You are a minx, Isobel Cameron.” He stepped closer, bracing his hands on the wall either side of her, trapping her against the tapestry. “I warned you already that I’m no’ man for you to provoke.”
“I didn’t follow you up here.” She puffed a strand of hair off her face, bristling.
“Would you rather I’d asked you in the hall if my seed quickened inside you?” He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“You accuse me of bespelling stones belonging to a dreagan cairn I never heard of.” She ignored his question, returning his stare with the same fury that raged in him. “Then you dare to turn your suspicions on ancients you’ve never met and know nothing about.”
Kendrew scowled at her, the throbbing at his loins returning with a vengeance. “If I dared what I’d like, sweet, it would no’ be asking about stones that won’t stay in place or two hoary souls who surely know their time is better spent keeping you out of mischief than plaguing me and the good folk at Nought.”
“You’ve had what you wanted. You can return to the hall.” She leaned against the wall, pressing her shoulders to the tapestry to put distance between them. Unfortunately, she only caused the silk of her bodice to stretch enticingly across her breasts. The gown wasn’t as wickedly low-cut as others he’d seen her in, but…
Her infernal nipples were taut, twin peaks thrusting proudly, demanding attention.
“Damn you, Isobel.” Kendrew couldn’t breathe. His entire body tightened, a torrent of need rushing through him, making him crazy. “I have no’ ‘had what I want.’ I hunger with wanting and” – he reached to cup her breast, then jerked his hand away before he could touch her – “you ought to be glad I can restrain myself.”
She had the cheek to smile. “I believe you are a master of restraint.”
He stepped back, so close to losing control. “If you or your Makers of Dreams had naught to do with Borg’s stones, then I’ll leave you with one last warning.”
“Indeed?” Her smile didn’t falter.
It was cold enough to frost him.
Breezing past him, she paused beneath a rushlight. The flickering glow limned her, doing wicked things to her silky blue-black hair and lush, oh-so-tantalizing curves. Kendrew suspected she stopped there deliberately, hoping to taunt and torment him.
And she did.
“See here, lass.” He clenched his fists at his sides, knowing that if she so much as blinked wantonly, he’d be on her in a heartbeat. “Someone – or something – caused the stones to keep rolling off the cairn.
“Whoe’er spelled the stones could be dangerous.” He didn’t care if he frightened her. Fear would spur her to heed his words. “No one was at the cairn save me and a handful of my most trusted men. None of us touched the stones once they were set atop the cairn. Dark magic is about in the glen and you’d be wise to have a care.”
He purposely avoided mention of the traces of a campfire he and his men had found, deep in a defile cut through Nought’s most inaccessible peaks.
He’d handle that threat on his own, without frightening her.
He also held back that his sister believed the Norse gods in Asgard were responsible for the stones repeatedly falling off the cairn.
Marjory thought it was the work of prankster Loki.
A jest to irritate and – Marjory had been smug when she’d said this – to prod him into ‘doing the honorable thing’ and seeing the stones delivered to James Cameron for his damty memorial.
There had been just enough stones to fill a cart.
No more, no less.
Kendrew’s mood blackened. It galled to think the gods would side with Camerons.
“I’ll keep your warning in mind.” Isobel didn’t look the least concerned. “Not that I intend to set foot in Nought territory ever again.”
“Then we are done, my lady.” Kendrew inclined his head, already reaching to fling back the tapestry and duck into the foul-smelling excuse of a tunnel Clan Cameron called a hidden passage. “I’ll no’ trouble you again. See that you do the same and-”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Heavy footsteps and the deep voices of two men floated up the winding stair. Their clumping and low-spoken converse echoed through the passage, coming ever closer. Any moment they’d reach the landing…
“That’s Hugh, my brother, and a cousin.” Isobel clapped a hand to her breast, her gaze darting to the still-empty turret arch. “If they find us-”
“They won’t.” Kendrew lifted the tapestry and pushed open the door to the wall passage. “In with you and” – he put a hand on her back and urged her inside the dark space – “be still until they’ve passed.”
“Oh!” She spluttered, flashing him an indignant glance over her shoulder.
“Hush.” Kendrew nipped into the passage with her, closing the warp-wooded door behind them. Hugh Cameron and his cousin were already in the corridor, the noise of their approach unmistakable in the tunnel’s darkness.
The blackness swirled around them, dank, thick, and filling with the scent of spring violets.
Kendrew’s blood raced in response. “Odin’s balls.”
“You said we must be quiet.” Isobel’s voice came from much too close, her shoulder bumping his arm. The movement sent another waft of violet past his nose.
“It’s your scent, damn you.”
“My scent?”
“Aye.” He glanced her way, catching the gleam of her eyes in the darkness. Praise the gods he couldn’t see the rest of her.
He did stand still, trying not to breathe. But his lungs rebelled, mocking him as he inhaled deeply, drinking in her light, clean fragrance. His vitals stirred, urgent desire sweeping him.
Outside, in the corridor, Hugh and his cousin paused near the tunnel entrance. Their muffled voices filtered through the tapestry and the wooden door, revealing they were praising a lusty laundress named Maili who – according to the two men – enjoyed airing her skirts and was highly skilled at carnal pleasuring.
Kendrew frowned, trying to block his ears as well as not breathe.
Colorful tales of a maid’s oral talents wasn’t what he needed to hear.
“Oh, dear…” Isobel sounded equally pained.
“Shhhh.” Kendrew turned, placing a hand over her mouth.
It was a grave mistake.
Her soft, warm lips pressing into his palm was torture. The silken spill of her hair brushing across his wrist roused him beyond restraint. Cool and sleek, the satiny strands branded him as surely as if she’d set an iron to his flesh. He released her at once, lowering his hand with the lightning speed that won him battles.
But it was too late, his best warring skills tromped.
The damage was done.
Furious, he clenched his jaw to trap the growl rising in his throat. His wits must’ve abandoned him. He should’ve entered the secret wall-
tunnel on his own, leaving Isobel in the corridor. Her brother and cousin would’ve passed by her without a word.
Now…
The fusty passage struck him as much tighter than before.
He knew it was darker.
Total, complete gloom that made it so easy for certain images to whirl across his mind. Just as the closeness ripped away his restraint, letting desire surge so fiercely he feared he’d break Isobel if he did cast aside caution and pull her into his arms.
“I think they’re leaving.” She whispered the words, daring fate when her soft breath teased his neck.
Kendrew didn’t move. A low humph was his only reply. Speech was no longer possible with the warm curve of her hip pressing against him, her damnable violet scent invading his senses.
But she was right.
The sound of retreating footsteps proved Hugh and her cousin were moving down the passage. Relieved, Kendrew reached to yank open the secret door just as Isobel sidled past him to do the same.
Only, in the tightness of the tunnel, she didn’t sidle far.
“Oh, dear…” She froze, surely aware that she’d just rubbed the fullness of her breasts across his chest. “I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded breathy, excited and not at all remorseful. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Lady Isobel, I say you did.” Kendrew gripped her arm, pulling back in front of him. “I doubt there is aught you do without deliberation.”
She huffed, straining away from him. “You don’t know me at all.”
“I know you better than I wish.” Kendrew held her by the waist, his fingers splayed across her hips. In the narrow tunnel, her back touched the wall, her breasts crushing against him. Her hair spilled everywhere, liquid silk, intimate and sinuous. And this time, he wasn’t of a mood to ignore temptation.
“You are a born seductress.” Lowering his head, he nipped her earlobe, trailed kisses down her neck. He kissed the curve of her cheek, then wished he hadn’t because her skin was so smooth and warm, enticing. “But I’m no’ a man to hide in shadows.
“Suchlike runs against my nature.” He straightened, setting firm hands on her shoulders, ignoring the sweet glide of her hair across his fingers. “Yet I dinnae think you’d wish me to kiss you out in the corridor, on the other side of thon door? Or down in the great hall with your brother and everyone else looking on?”
“No, that isn’t what I wish.” She took a deep breath and Kendrew sensed rather than saw her frown. “What I want-”
“I ken what you want.” He gripped her chin, lifting her face to his even though she couldn’t see him in the darkness. “Such passions are no’ good for you. You’re better off in your ladies’ bower, stitching fancy borders on linens.”
“Then step aside so I can go there.” Her voice snapped with anger, just as he’d hoped.
Releasing her, he edged past her, pulling open the tunnel door before he damned his chivalry and hitched up her skirts, taking against the wall as his painfully-tight body roared for him to do. She wouldn’t fight him. Far from it, she’d welcome him, sliding her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, urging him on.
He could quench his need for her so easily.
Leaving her now would damn him to sleepless nights, endless longing, and regret.
His honor – such as it was – won the battle.
“Wait till I’m down the stairs before you leave the tunnel, Lady Isobel.” He did his worst, stepping out into the dimly lit corridor.
“What?” She burst from the secret passage, grabbing his arm. “You can’t go down the stairs. Are you mad? Someone might see you.”
“I’ll say I lost my way back from the stables.” He shook off her grip and started along the corridor, making for the turnpike stair.
“Kendrew, please…” Isobel didn’t come after him.
He kept on, not looking back.
“You are mad.” She hissed the words, angry now.
Kendrew smiled, giving his steps a swagger. Anger was good. Thinking him crazed, even better. His smile widened when he reached the turret stair and stepped into its shadows.
He welcomed the gloom.
The dimness would hide him from view if Isobel dashed to the stair’s entry and peered down to watch his descent. With luck, she wouldn’t see him nip into the secret tunnel at the next landing.
It was best if she thought he’d boldly marched down the stair.
Mad as she believed him, uncaring if he caused her woe.
What a pity that he did care.
Worse than that, he didn’t think he could stop.
* * *
Even as Kendrew made his way through Castle Haven’s much-too-low, much-too-narrow secret wall passage, this time heading back down to the great hall, his long-passed but still lively ancestor, Daire, drifted to and fro in a quiet corner of the battlements. He’d always appreciated the contemplative benefits of pacing. And just now, he needed to decide if there was hope for Kendrew.
He believed so.
The notion put a smile on his once-proud face.
He hadn’t been so sure the night he’d watched over Kendrew as he’d slept atop Slag’s Mound. The lad’s fury had thickened the air, even as he’d tossed and turned on the rocks, snoring worse than a dreagan.
Now…
Daire could scarce contain his excitement.
In life, he’d worked hard to forge peace between the glen clans. A keen judge of character, he’d secretly selected brides from both Clan Cameron and the MacDonalds for carefully chosen Mackintosh warriors, including the chief of his day. It’d been a grand undertaking and was almost ready for fruition when Rodan’s treachery ruined everything.
All Daire’s work had been for naught.
No marriages took place between the pairs he’d been so sure would wed well together.
And the enmity between the three glen clans only grew, worsening down the ages.
Yet…
Kendrew and Isobel were better suited for each other than any of the pairs Daire had tried to match in his day.
So a strong sense of accomplishment welled inside him. If such were possible, he was sure that his heart would beat faster, his pulse quickening. He did fancy that his ghostly mail gleamed with particular brightness, reflecting his satisfaction and delight.
It was just a shame that there was no one to share his high spirits.
Once, there would’ve been.
A true and loyal soul he’d loved more than his life.
We will never be parted. His own long-ago promise echoed in his mind as he paused by a merlon in the notched parapet wall. Lifting a mist-thin hand to his brow, he looked out across the wooded slopes of the hills, then to the high, heather-grown moorlands rolling beyond. Nothing stirred so far as his eye could see.
You can depend on me always. More of his words, slipping out from the deep, hidden place where he kept them, knowing well that dwelling on sorrow only deepened the pain.
But he had known glory for a time.
And he’d enjoyed the most pure and wondrous love.
That was long ago, sadly.
This day held one of the small triumphs that came his way now and then. So he allowed himself his pride. Even a bit of spectral daring, leaning out through a crenel opening to catch a better view of the great, roaring waterfalls that spilled down the hills behind Castle Haven.
The Cameron holding was a bonnie place.
Perhaps not wild and rugged enough to attract anyone from Nought, but nothing was impossible.
He hadn’t lived all these centuries without learning that truth.
So he braced a hand against the edge of the merlon and kept watch as he always did, hoping he wasn’t missing anything of import.
It was hard to think with so much clean, cold air blowing across the parapets. Like all Mackintoshes, he relished sharp weather. The keening wind was music to his ears, so easily distracting.
And he really did need to keep his thoughts on Kendrew and the raven-haired lovely.
From what he’d seen, things weren’t anywhere near settled between them. Admittedly, he’d left them to their privacy when they’d embraced in the tunnel.
He’d expected them to kiss, even hoped fervently.
They’d argued instead.
Tempers rose before Daire could flit more than a pace away. And then he’d been obliged to keep an eye on them. Having taken on their cause – life as an Otherworldly being did turn boring at times, necessitating such engagement – it was in his best interest to observe them.
Only so could he be of service.
He’d already performed a most astonishing feat, causing the top stones of young Borg’s nest to keep rolling off the cairn until enough rock accumulated to make a cartload. That wonder filled him with pride. Sadly, it’d also cost him quite a bit of strength.
But he’d managed the journey here all the same.
His reward was great.
He now knew that Kendrew’s heart was softening toward the fetching Cameron beauty who – beyond all doubt – was such a well-suited bride for him. There could be no other reason that he’d ignored her so fiercely upon his arrival in the Castle Haven hall. Nor could anything else have spurred him to once again suffer the tight confines of the secret passage, if not to protect Lady Isobel.
Kendrew did care for her.
If he didn’t, he would’ve ravished her in the tunnel. Yet he’d resisted. He’d behaved nobly, even if he’d allowed Lady Isobel to believe otherwise.
Daire understood the lad’s reasons.
So there was hope.
He just didn’t know how to go about ensuring that the pair met again soon.
Kendrew had most adamantly declined the Cameron chief’s invitation to participate in the upcoming dedication ceremony for the memorial cairn. His gallantry slipping, regretably, the lad had even thrown back his head and laughed, announcing his beard would grow past his ankles before he’d return to Castle Haven.
Then he’d left in a huff.
Daire had tried to stop him, to no avail.
His ghostly powers only went so far. And his remarkable bit of stone magic at Borg’s lair truly had left him drained. So he hovered where he was, sheltered by the merlon and the wall of an empty guardhouse. He also sent a prayer to Asgard, asking the gods not to let the strong wind rushing across the parapets whisk him back to Nought.
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel: Highland Warriors Book 2 Page 14
