She rubbed her thumb over the ring’s gleaming blue stone, again feeling Alasdair close his fingers over hers, warning her to take care.
He spoke with a deep resonance, rich tones that stirred incredible longing. She wanted to hear him again. Relive how she’d felt when he’d leaned near, his gaze locking with hers. The delicious shivers his voice sent flowing through her, melting her.
Frowning, she curled her fingers into the soft folds of her cloak to keep from glancing at the ring again. The last thing she needed was to remember and ache.
To yearn for something that could never be.
So she stepped around Isobel to open the door to Nought’s walled kitchen gardens. Isobel followed her outside, closing the door behind them. She took Marjory’s wrist, lifting her hand to peer at the sapphire ring.
“Do you think Alasdair believed you lost the ring at the fair?” Isobel’s gaze was sharp. “Or that he accepted Gronk’s tale of finding it in the wood?”
Marjory slipped her hand from Isobel’s grip. “At the time, I did think something bothered him. Now…” She flicked at her sleeve, resenting the unpleasant tightness in her chest. She’d been prepared to risk everything, do anything to win his heart.
She’d trusted he felt the same.
“Everyone knows what was irritating him.” She looked at Isobel, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “His manly needs, as he said.”
Isobel tsked. “You are being unfair.”
“I think not.” Marjory felt a bump against her leg. She bent, reaching down to pet Hercules as he leaned into her, making small rumbling noises. He understood her annoyance and sympathized even if Isobel didn’t.
“He opened my eyes.” Marjory straightened. “Though I’ll admit it hurts to see I allowed my heart to choose unwisely. I’d so hoped I’d fulfill our pact. My confidence rose after Kendrew fell so hard for you. Who would’ve believed he’d abandon his wild ways and wed you, a lady? He’d sworn never to touch a woman of gentle birth. Then you came to our Midsummer Revels and-”
“He couldn’t help himself.” Isobel smiled, her face softening. “Just as Alasdair couldn’t resist kissing you in the old guardroom-”
“He seized advantage, aye.”
“That wasn’t the way of it. He was overcome by desire at being alone with you.”
“Humph.” The throbbing in Marjory’s head worsened.
So did Isobel’s smile. “Denying the truth won’t change it.”
“Nor will twisting what happened into something it wasn’t.” Marjory started down the path through Nought’s walled kitchen gardens. “Alasdair kissed me because it’s been ages since he’s taken his ease with a woman,” she declared, taking a deep breath of the cold, herb-scented air.
Isobel walked beside her, Hercules trailing along.
“He’s keeping himself for you.” Isobel glanced back at the closed garden door behind them. She lowered her voice. “No other woman interests him. Anyone can see that. He needs-”
“All men have needs and he hasn’t been tending his.” Marjory squelched the dash of hope stirred by Isobel’s words. “He is a well-lusted man. His behavior had nothing to do with me.”
Isobel’s eyes twinkled. “Say you.”
“I do.” Marjory looked away, not wanting to recall how she’d felt pressed so intimately to Alasdair. Their bodies almost seamed together, her breasts crushed against his hard-muscled chest. How his hands had gripped her hips, pulling her closer. Or, her pulse began to race, the sinuous glides of their tongues as they’d kissed. The hot breath they’d shared, her excitement. She’d melted, desire sweeping her.
Then….
She turned her face into the wind, toward Nought’s peaks. Massive and jagged, they soared above the garden walls. Mist still wreathed them, but it’d thinned in places, allowing the mountains’ granite to wink in the lowering sun. The rain clouds had moved on, taking the thunder with them. But the wind brought the distant rush of Dreagan Falls, a waterfall hidden deep within Nought’s heart.
Marjory straightened her back, squaring her shoulders.
She would’ve loved to stroll the garden with Alasdair, showing him Nought’s beauty as few have ever seen. Instead, she was here with Isobel, following a pebbled path through the well-ordered beds of herbs, onions, and garlic.
The pungency hung in the damp air, along with the scent of wet stone. It was a smell all Nought’s own, and that always made her heart beat faster.
Just now, she scarcely noticed.
She couldn’t forget how good Alasdair smelled. Almost sinfully wicked, his scent was a heady blend of cold leather and peat smoke, a hint of brisk, clean wind. She’d wanted to breathe him in, drench her senses so she could always feel near him. Now, she only felt bereft.
At the garden well, turned to face Isobel. “I do not wish to speak of the MacDonald. Especially here, so close to the kitchens.”
Nearly every wall at Nought had hidden spy and listening holes. So Marjory hooked her arm in Isobel’s and led her toward the back of the herb beds.
Nought’s stone garden stretched beyond, a sanctuary of flagged paths, polished granite arcades and benches. A scattering of lovely, reflective ponds set among fanciful groupings of rocks lent tranquility. Created by a past Mackintosh lady who must’ve loved Nought as dearly as Marjory did, it was one of her favorite places. Hercules also loved the stone garden and Marjory often walked him along the curving paths.
He bolted ahead now, waiting for the women at the gate. New and beautifully crafted of iron, it proudly bore the letters K and I intertwined inside a heart at the gate’s center. The design was Kendrew’s and bespoke his devotion to Isobel.
A pity his heart wouldn’t expand enough to allow his sister to follow her own dreams.
Of course, now she knew the folly of her hopes.
“I think we should speak of Alasdair.” Isobel reached around her to open the gate, stepping aside so Marjory and Hercules could enter the stone garden. “You will see him again soon. You ignite fires inside him. He isn’t resistant and stubborn like Kendrew. Nor is he like my brother, James. Alasdair-”
“I’m not comparing him to Kendrew or James.” Marjory started along the broad flagstone path through artfully placed groupings of large, polished stones. “Indeed, I thought I knew him well.
“There was such a spark between us when we met.” She stopped to draw her cloak tighter. Here, in the open space of the stone garden, the cold wind was biting. “You know how it was. Catriona knows, too. She was with Alasdair when they came here. I felt almost feverish, my breath catching when I stepped into the hall and saw him.” She started walking again, her pace brisk.
“There was an intensity of feeling I’d never before experienced. He consumed me, chasing reason like a swift, flooding tide I couldn’t resist. I believed we were meant to be joined.” She glanced at Isobel, willing her to understand. “When we made our pact, after the trial by combat, I was sure he was the man I would wed. If he resisted, I trusted I could seduce him.”
“You did.” Isobel smiled encouragingly.
“Perhaps so” – Isobel looked again toward Nought’s peaks – “but with disastrous results.”
It’d been the hope of all three women to win their men’s hearts. Only so did they believe to end the years of strife between the three clans that called the Glen of Many Legends their own. They’d forged a plan better than any King’s writ. Forced amity can be given token acceptance, but will shatter at the first ripple of dissent. Peace born of marital and blood bonds can heal all wounds if the hearts involved loved true.
James Cameron was devoted to his wife, Catriona MacDonald, Alasdair’s sister.
Kendrew was besotted with Isobel, James sister.
Only Alasdair proved disinterested in pursuing matters of the heart.
He’d left the glen, vanishing for a year. And he’d returned a different man. No longer the honor-and-duty-bound chieftain Marjory once knew, he’d become a lust-driven ro
gue who cared only for quenching his manly needs.
Perhaps he’d always been such a blackguard?
Marjory shut her eyes for a moment, listened to the wind racing through the stone garden. Frustration wound inside her, agitation heating her cheeks.
It didn’t help that she’d relished every scandalous touch Alasdair had given her. Their scorching kisses and his hands on her breasts…
Her plans were doomed.
Her heart aching.
“I erred, don’t you see?” She glanced at her friend and then went to one of the low-walled reflective pools, watched the wind ripple the shallow water. “Alasdair might be easy to seduce, but he isn’t prepared to give his heart to any woman. I was foolish to believe he would fall in love with me.”
“Nae. You are foolish to doubt him.” Isobel joined her at the pool. “He offered to marry you, did he not?”
“What else could he do? Besides, he knew how Kendrew would react. He felt safe offering, hence his bold words.” That truth was a knife jab to Marjory’s heart. “It would seem our pact might not be completed. Although” - she took a step closer to the pond, nudged its stone rim with her toe – “I am not ready to concede defeat.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Isobel moved out of the way of Hercules, who was running back and forth along the edge of the pool, barking at his reflection. “All is not yet lost. Kendrew was a much harder man to catch. I also had Catriona aye urging me to abandon my heart’s desire and forget him.
“You” – she turned back to Marjory – “have me encouraging you with Alasdair.”
“I know, and I love you for it.” Marjory darted a glance at the path they’d come along, making certain they were still alone. “But even you cannot conjure feelings Alasdair doesn’t have. Gorm and Grizel, your clan’s dream spinners up on the high moors, could surely work a charm for me. Yet they only guide and nudge, never really interfering in mortal affairs. The great Devorgilla of Doon…
“Now she’d be one to help me.” Marjory couldn’t keep the wistful note from her voice. “If I knew how to summon her, I would. She’s said to have a heart for ill-starred lovers. She might-”
“The legendary Devorgilla will be away in Kintail or other far-off bounds, aiding those in true need.” Isobel smiled. “You can do without her charms and mutterings. You must only step over your shadow and not be waylaid by doubt.”
“I appreciate your support, truly.” Marjory did.
Sadly, there was another reason she’d asked Isobel to accompany her into the stone garden. Something that had nothing to do with Alasdair and that she wished had little to do with her as well.
Unfortunately, she suspected otherwise.
So she rubbed her arms against the cold and fought back a shiver. Then she lifted a hand to touch the smooth amber stones at her throat, knowing that she couldn’t deny their portent any longer.
“I’m worried, my friend.” She spoke plainly. “When Alasdair said his lookouts reported black-painted longships, my ambers nearly burned my neck. Just like in that horrible dream I had not too long ago. You’ll remember, where I-”
“Saw yourself at a Viking ship burial, being led to the dead lord’s funerary pyre?” Isobel’s brows knit. “How could I forget?”
“I can’t either.” Marjory shuddered, curled her fingers around the now-cool ambers. “The sensation earlier, in the hall, was the same. I’m certain there’s a connection. We both know the ambers are enchanted. They don’t lie. They’re telling me of coming danger.
“And” – she spoke in a rush – “I’m sure it isn’t Alasdair and his kisses. He only gave a name to the peril. The ambers are warning me of Vikings.”
“So it would seem.” Isobel began to pace, walking between the reflective pond and a group of tall granite obelisks, each one formed by nature. Dubbed Thor’s thunderbolts by the Mackintoshes who’d collected them, the unusual spears of rock had been gathered over time, whenever one broke away from the higher peaks.
“The question is…” Isobel paused beside one of the thunderbolts, resting a hand on the stone’s curved edge. “How can a Norse ship threaten you now? Black-painted or otherwise, there aren’t any Vikings coming to claim you. That fright is behind us.”
“Can we be so sure?” Marjory was anything but.
“Of course, we can.” Isobel glanced back at Nought’s torch-lit bulk and then looked again at Marjory. “I’ve spent long nights badgering Kendrew, trying to learn his plans for you. I’ve used methods I am not proud of, pressing my advantage when he was,” – her face colored – “shall we say, a bit vulnerable?
“Each time, he swore the same truth.” Her expression turned serious. “He’s exhausted his resources. We heard him say as much to Alasdair when they fought. Every Norse warlord or noble he’s offered your hand, has declined the match. Groat’s overlord was the last. The few remaining are, according to Kendrew’s spies, either too old and infirm for you or known to be cruel. Much as we both wish he wouldn’t have tried to wed you to a Viking at all, he does love you dearly. He wouldn’t see you sent to a dotard who’d dribble in his beard or a coldhearted fiend who’d beat you.”
Marjory drew a long breath, knowing her friend spoke true.
Even so…
“We also heard him say he intends to find more suitors.” Marjory wasn’t sure how long, or how efficiently, she could thwart such attempts.
“Bluster, I’m sure.” Isobel made light of her worries.
“I hope you’re right.” Marjory turned her gaze on the stark black peaks beyond the stone garden’s walls. “Do you truly believe the MacDonald ambers have magical powers?”
She hoped Isobel would say no.
Instead, Isobel looked unhappy. “Catriona believes so, and she will have heard all the tales, having been raised at Blackshore. My experience with them says they speak true. If they heat and tremble against your skin, they’re telling of danger.”
“Then I must take heed.” Marjory stood straighter, not sure from what corner a threat could strike her. She was certain the danger came from the black-painted longships and her frightening dream.
She knew only one way to find answers.
Regrettably, the woman who could help her wasn’t at her cottage each time she made the journey to the humble dwelling deep in a birchwood between Nought and the clan’s famed dreagan stones.
Still…
“I must speak with Hella.” She hoped Kendrew wasn’t sending the widow on pointless errands to keep her from catching the older woman at home.
He’d been angry with Hella ever since the outspoken Norsewoman upbraided him for attempting to foist an unwanted marriage on Marjory.
Twice widowed and happily married both times, Hella lost her first husband when his Norse merchant ship sank in the treacherous waters just offshore from Nought’s Dreagan’s Claw. It was a tragedy that left few survivors. Most young oarsmen returned to Shetland whence they’d come. Hella was too badly injured to make the journey home to that far northern isle. She’d stayed on at Nought, eventually falling in love with the Mackintosh warrior who’d pulled her from the surf. The pair married, enjoying many good years until her husband succumbed to a fever.
Rather than return to Shetland, Hella remained at Nought, the home she’d come to love as her own.
She also loved Marjory, treating her as the daughter she never had.
Of late, Kendrew scolded that Hella was stirring discontent in the clan. Almost as if he knew that Hella…
“Kendrew doesn’t trust Hella.” Isobel spoke Marjory’s mind. “He suspects she had something to do with a few of the declines for your hand.”
“She only carried a few of my messages to Norse couriers when I was unable to slip past Kendrew’s nose.” Marjory looked at the pool’s black-glistening water. “My brother has men who’d die for him in battle. He cannot blame Hella for standing with me.”
“He shouldn’t, but he does.”
“After I speak with Hella, I’ll make c
ertain she has enough peat and victuals to allow her to stay away from Nought until Kendrew is in a better mood.” She’d also be sure several of the guards loyal to her, watched over the older woman’s cottage.
If the black-painted longships posed a danger, the men in them would be an even greater threat.
Unlike ships, men could climb steep cliff paths and find ways through tight mountain passes. A remote thatched cottage wouldn’t protect a lone woman if a war-band of rough-hewn men happened upon her.
Hella was still an attractive woman.
Tall, blond, and strong, she could’ve been long remarried to any of Mackintoshes’ older fighters, if she’d wished such attentions.
She chose to live alone in her cottage.
“And you?” Isobel sounded concerned. “Will you heed the ambers’ warning?”
“I will if Hella gives me the answer I’m expecting.”
“And what is that?”
Marjory hesitated only a moment. Isobel knew every detail of the dream. “I want to know if there are Saracen women in Norway. If so, if she recognizes the names from my dream.”
“And if she does?” Isobel made the sign against evil.
Marjory gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be forewarned.”
Chapter 9
“Ne’er have you made a greater arse of yourself.”
Alasdair considered ignoring his cousin Ewan’s remark. Having ridden away from Nought at speed, they were now crossing Mackintosh territory’s higher ridges, making for their own Blackshore Castle in the south. A cold north wind accompanied them through the rocky, inhospitable terrain. Sadly, for all the wind’s strength, it didn’t blow powerfully enough to carry away Ewan’s quip. Alasdair clearly heard the amusement in the younger man’s voice.
So he drew rein and turned in his saddle to face the lad. “Be glad MacDonalds aren’t led by a feeble dotard, afraid to bloody his fists. Kendrew’s bones will be aching this night, and rightly so.”
Ewan grinned. “Did you see his nose?” He glanced at the other men, chuckling. “It’ll be bigger than his ax-blade come morning. And you-”
Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4) Page 15
