Kilty Party

by Markland, Anna

  “I concur,” Merryweather declared.

  “Is yer horse mended?” Blair asked.

  “Not completely, but he’ll make it to Perth and I can procure another mount from the regimental stables.”

  “And why should I come with ye?” Blair growled.

  “Once we’ve found your son,” Merryweather explained patiently. “We can all journey on to Stirling.”

  Shaw was glad of the dragoon’s assistance in convincing Blair, but the auld man still scowled.

  “I doot Brodie Drummond will agree to any of this.”

  This wasn’t the moment for Shaw to express his misgivings. “Aye. He will.”

  An hour later, Shaw helped Caitlin mount Laurel. “We’ll find him,” he assured her.

  She nodded.

  Choosing to ignore her father’s steely glare, he kissed her fully on the lips. “I swear to ye we’ll be wed before Hogmanay,” he promised.

  “Hogmanay,” she whispered.

  Merryweather led the way out of Ardblair with some of his dragoons. The rest brought up the rear. Shaw rode alongside Ian Blair and his daughters, ready to defend them from any danger.

  As they passed Newton, Caitlin reminded him there was still a tunnel to explore someday.

  Breakfast

  A loud rapping at the door of Jamie’s cottage woke Fiona. She’d slept soundly until a cock crowed a short time earlier, then she must have dozed.

  She stretched languid muscles, startled when she opened her eyes to see Rory standing beside the bed, one hand on the corner of his plaid. “Do ye mind if I take this?” he asked.

  Still half-asleep, she nodded, sliding out of bed as he retrieved his plaid and draped it over his shoulder. “Who’s at the door?” she asked, harboring a lunatic hope Rory would send them packing.

  It was rather exciting to wake up of a morning with a mon staring at her, his husky voice asking if…

  She perched on the edge of the mattress and gritted her teeth. Now, she was beginning to think well of her captor just because he’d lent her his plaid.

  The knocking came again. “Captain George Gaskell of His Majesty’s Dragoons here. Open this door at once, Blair.”

  “I’ll open it when ye bring my sister to me safe and sound,” Rory shouted. “The Drummonds have her hidden somewhere. They canna have Fiona back until I see Caitlin.”

  During the long silence that followed, Rory sat down next to her on the bed, arms folded. She should have risen immediately and put distance between them, but she didn’t. “What will he do?”

  “Nothing. He’s an ineffectual English ass.”

  She closed her eyes, welcoming his assurance and the heat of his thigh almost touching hers.

  “Ye seem relieved,” he said.

  Her eyes flew open. “I dinna wish to see blood spilled,” she replied.

  He arched a brow. “Nay even mine?”

  She looked into amethyst eyes that were too close, then shifted her gaze to his lips. He was going to kiss her.

  Did she want him to?

  Nay.

  Aye.

  Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears; another, more intimate place pulsed in reply. He leaned closer…

  “My men have the cottage surrounded,” Gaskell declared.

  The spell was broken. She must indeed have been under a spell to think Rory Blair wanted to kiss her—as if she’d allow that to happen.

  He gritted his teeth. “And I’ve twenty Blair kinsmen camped in yon meadows. If ye want a bloodbath, ye’ll get one.”

  A wave of heat rolled over her when Rory turned and winked. It was all she could do not to launch herself at him and kiss him silly.

  But the sound of retreating footsteps and Gaskell barking at his men brought him to his feet. “What would ye like for breakfast, my lady?” he quipped. “Oatmeal or oatmeal?”

  *

  Rory had to walk away from Fiona. He’d come dangerously close to succumbing to the urge to kiss her. If he had, she’d have screamed, Gaskell’s men would have broken down the door, and all hell would have broken loose. He’d have been arrested and carted off to Edinburgh to stand trial.

  Poking the fire back to life, he chuckled. It was more likely the indecisive captain would have run a mile in the other direction if he heard Fiona scream.

  Would she have objected to his kiss…fought him off?

  For a few seconds, he’d thought she wanted him to kiss her.

  As if!

  He filled a small pot from the pump in the back-house and set it over the fire. Waiting for the water to boil, he acknowledged it was pleasant to be making breakfast for someone—for Fiona. He’d watched her while she slept, wondering what it would be like to wake up next to her every day. She’d looked so endearingly sleepy, her hair mussed when he’d woken her. He’d never slept all night in the same room as a woman, never had the urge to sift his fingers through tangled tresses.

  Jamie’s cottage was cozy. In different circumstances…

  He nigh on broke the wooden spoon stirring the bubbling oatmeal with a vengeance, irritated he couldn’t stop fantasizing about his captive.

  Hopefully, Gaskell understood the urgency of producing proof Caitlin was alive before Rory did something he was sure to regret.

  *

  Fiona prided herself on her appearance, never leaving her chamber until Sadie had tightly braided her hair and cleaned and pressed her garments.

  Now, she sat across the table from Rory in a creased gown, her hair untamed. “I feel like the shipwrecked Viola from William Shakespeare’s play Twelfth Night,” she grumbled, though she doubted he would understand the reference.

  He blew on his spoonful of oatmeal. “An amusing tale,” he replied. “Though I prefer Master Shakespeare’s tragedies.”

  She quickly closed her gaping mouth, but not in time.

  “Ye deemed me an ignorant Highland laird who kens naught of culture.”

  “Nay,” she muttered, though that’s exactly what she’d been thinking. There was more to Rory Blair than met the eye. She sipped some of the oatmeal, tempted to tell him it needed salt, but that would be churlish since he’d gone to the trouble of making it. He could have let her go hungry. “Any play in particular? We have the complete works in our library.”

  She gripped the spoon, wishing she hadn’t sounded so pompous.

  “I envy ye that,” he replied, apparently not offended. “Ardblair has copies of only one or two, and I’ve read King Lear many times.”

  “But reading isna the same as seeing the play performed.”

  Drat! Again she’d come across as a know-it-all. She’d never seen any of Shakespeare’s plays performed on stage. “Traveling players sometimes come to Drummond,” she explained. “They recite extracts.”

  “Aye, the troupes visit Ardblair as well, but they tend to perform comedies.”

  As she ate her oatmeal, the stupidity of the Drummonds’ centuries-old assumption that the Blairs were a bunch of illiterate peasants hit her like a blow to the belly. They likely thought the same about her clan. It stood to reason two proud and ancient clans living within thirty-five miles of each other would have the same opportunities and desires for learning and literature.

  What’s Going on?

  Another insistent rapping at the door heralded the arrival of Fiona’s father shortly before noon. “Brodie Drummond, laird of this clan. Release my daughter at once. Ye have five minutes to get off our lands.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes.

  Rory frowned. “I thought Shaw had taken over as laird.”

  “He has. My father just refuses to accept reality.”

  Rory felt grateful his own sire had agreed to cede the chieftaincy, albeit reluctantly. He’d have to be careful how he responded to the stubborn Brodie.

  Fiona shook her head. “Leave this to me,” she said.

  He nodded. She knew her father better than he did.

  “Listen, Da,” she began, her voice steady, “Rory is treating me with respect.
He is concerned about his sister, and ye canna blame him for that. There’s nay need for blood to be shed.”

  “But yer reputation, Daughter.”

  Rory might have been mistaken but he thought Fiona snorted before replying. “Laird Blair is a gentlemon. He willna do anything to sully my reputation.”

  Rory smiled sheepishly. If she knew the intimate places he’d thought of touching…

  “And another thing, Da, ye ken full weel Shaw is laird now. He is determined to wed Caitlin Blair, so ye canna kill her brother, lest ye break yer son’s heart.”

  Brodie muttered, growled and mumbled for a few minutes, then they heard another voice. “Are ye weel, Fiona?”

  “Aye, Gordon,” she replied, her voice faltering for the first time. “Dinna fash about me. See to yer wee brother.”

  “I’m here too,” Logan shouted. “We’re praying for ye.”

  “This will be over soon,” she assured him.

  Spine stiff and shoulders rigid, she turned away from the door after her family left. She avoided Rory’s gaze, but he saw the tears welling. She loved her younger brothers and they were worried about her. “Ye’re like a mother to them,” he said, filled with an urge to take her in his arms and soothe the pain and fear he’d caused.

  *

  Fiona swallowed hard. “I love all my brothers,” she declared. “Shaw might be too old for me to mother, but he’s a fine Highland warrior who’ll be a better laird than his father. It pains me ye canna accept he’ll make a good husband for Caitlin.”

  “But what has he done with her?” Rory exclaimed.

  Hands fisted on hips, she thrust out her chin and glared at the stubborn mon. “For all we ken, they are waiting for ye in Ardblair. Perhaps, yer sister is just as worried, wondering why ye havena returned.”

  He mimicked her stance, his nose inches from hers. “Perhaps, then, I should take ye with me to Ardblair to see if what ye claim is true?”

  A vision of riding in Rory’s lap all the way to Ardblair played havoc with Fiona’s wits as they stared at each other, nostrils flared, eyes wide.

  Time seemed to stand still for an eternity before Rory suddenly rasped, “I’m going to kiss ye, Fiona Drummond.”

  Her knees trembled. “’Tis about time, Rory Blair.”

  The gentle brush of his lips sparked a fire. She didn’t know where she found the gumption, but it seemed right to nibble his lower lip and pull him closer.

  He gathered her into his embrace and deepened the kiss.

  Feet dangling in air, breasts pressed against the solid wall of his chest, she’d never felt so wonderfully powerless. She tasted the oatmeal they’d shared for breakfast, inhaled his male scent and sifted her fingers through the silky hair at his nape. Sharing a kiss with a mon was everything she’d dreamed of. It had been worth the wait. She surrendered to the sensations running rampant in private places when he coaxed open her lips with his tongue.

  She groaned when he growled.

  She unashamedly pressed her mons to his hard manhood when his hands cupped her bottom. The unlovable Fiona Drummond had aroused this braw Highlander. It was a heady feeling that caused her heart to pound, pound, pound in her ears. She wanted to tear off Rory’s plaid, work her hands under his shirt…

  Lost in the moment, she failed to realize he’d pulled away. She looked into amethyst eyes, beyond relieved not to see regret. Then, it came to her the pounding was someone banging on the door. “Can they nay leave us alone?” she exclaimed in frustration.

  “Rory, ’tis Shaw Drummond. Open the door. Caitlin is weel and waiting for ye in the castle.”

  Overjoyed her brother was safe, Fiona put her hands on Rory’s chest. “Did I nay tell ye?”

  He pouted, uncertainty flickering in the amethyst depths. “How do I ken ye speak the truth?” he shouted.

  “Major Merryweather here, Laird Blair. Lady Caitlin fell down a shaft at Newton Castle. Drummond rescued her. I guarantee she is safe. Her father and sister have come as well.”

  “My father is here?” Rory asked. “Why would he ride to Drummond?”

  “Will ye open the door?” Shaw asked again. “We’ll explain. There’ll be nay reprisal for yer actions. Unless Fiona wants to punish ye.”

  She heard Shaw chuckling with Merryweather as they shared the humor of his jest.

  Rory put his hands on her waist. “Do ye wish to punish me, Lady Fiona Drummond?”

  “Oh, aye,” she replied, emboldened by the gleam in his eyes. “Yer forfeit is another kiss, then another, then…”

  His lips stole away her words. Their tongues touched, then mated as they clung to each other for long minutes, savoring the tastes, the textures.

  “What’s going on in there?” Shaw demanded to know.

  Rory put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “’Tis a good question.”

  Wizardry

  Shaw and Merryweather stood back from the door of Jamie’s cottage, listening to the sounds of heavy furniture being moved.

  “Expect my sister to emerge spitting fire and brimstone,” Shaw said with a chuckle.

  The major smiled. “I spent only a short while with her, and I’d say Blair is lucky she hasn’t scratched out his eyes.”

  Shaw nodded. “She’s no shrinking violet, ’tis for sure.”

  He frowned when the door opened and Fiona appeared, Rory looming behind her. She hesitated, apparently reluctant to leave the cottage, and he’d never seen her so disheveled. He glanced at Merryweather who looked as puzzled as he felt. “Are ye weel, Sister?” he asked.

  Her teeth worried her lower lip. “I am very weel, Shaw, and I’m relieved to see ye safely returned, but I have to assure ye Rory has been a gentlemon and hasna hurt me.”

  Shaw didn’t recognize this blushing, soft-spoken woman. Perhaps Rory had intimidated her, unlikely as it seemed. “Has he coerced ye to tell me that?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. He was almost relieved to see the usual scowl on her face.

  “Did ye nay listen?” she hissed before flouncing out of the cottage and into his embrace. “I kent Caitlin would be safe with ye,” she whispered close to his ear.

  Rory stepped out and offered his hand to Shaw. “I thank ye for rescuing Caitlin. I was desperate to make sure some evil hadna befallen her.”

  Shaw accepted the conciliatory gesture, though he’d have appreciated an actual apology for taking Fiona hostage. “I promise ye I’ll ne’er let any harm come to Caitlin, and I’ll take my sister’s word that ye havena hurt her.”

  “Nay,” Rory assured him, but the way he stared at Fiona was bothersome, and Shaw got the feeling she was uncharacteristically nervous.

  “Dinna worry,” he told her. “The danger is over. I’ll escort ye to the castle.”

  “I was ne’er in any danger,” she insisted. “And Rory can escort me.”

  Dumbfounded, Shaw watched the two stroll up the hill arm in arm.

  “What do you make of that?” Merryweather asked.

  “I have absolutely nay idea,” Shaw replied. “’Tis as though they’re both under a spell.”

  The major slapped him on the back. “A spell, eh?”

  *

  Surrounded by Drummonds, Caitlin and Nairn held hands as they waited in the Great Hall for news of Fiona’s release. Pacing in front of the hearth, Shaw’s father muttered, clearly angry, though his glowering countenance seemed to be directed at everyone, not just them. Standing beside Caitlin’s chair, Shaw’s Uncle Jamie was the only reassuring presence.

  Some of her nervousness eased when Rory strode into the hall with Fiona on his arm. She’d fretted about the repercussions of the kidnapping, but it appeared all was well. Shaw’s sister looked disheveled and tired as she nodded to her captor and went to speak to Jamie.

  When Rory set eyes on her, the relief on his face unleashed the tears Caitlin had been holding back. She hurried to greet him. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed against his chest. “’Twas wrong of me to
run off.”

  He stroked her hair. “Ye’re safe now. ’Tis all that matters.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Only because Shaw rescued me.”

  “’Tis true then? Ye fell down a shaft at Newton?”

  “Aye,” she confirmed, deeming it wiser to remain silent on the topic of a tunnel. “Shaw truly loves me, Rory. We want to be married in Stirling.”

  Their father interrupted. “But I wouldna give my blessing without yer approval.”

  Rory released his hold on Caitlin. “I can see the merits of a neutral ground, but ’twill be impossible to set foot in Stirling again. We’ve been banished from its precincts.”

  The winged creatures in Caitlin’s stomach began to settle. Her brother hadn’t voiced any objection to the marriage.

  “Aye,” Brodie Drummond exclaimed. “We canna go to Stirling after the problems ye Blairs caused there.”

  Caitlin felt like a reed at the mercy of the gale, blown this way and that, until Shaw put his arm around her waist.

  However, it was Fiona who spoke up. “Drummonds were as much at fault, Father,” she said. “’Twas my thoughtless words that lit the fuse. ’Twill be necessary to apologize to the Governor of Stirling, and I am willing to do so.”

  Shaw’s grip tightened around Caitlin’s waist as he gasped, clearly as shocked as she was by his sister’s willingness to admit her part in the catastrophe.

  Her astonishment grew when Rory declared, “I too should have guarded my tongue. Stirling would be a symbolic place to end this cursed feud, and I’m willing to go there and apologize.”

  Caitlin had expected Fiona to be spewing vitriol at her captor, but she smiled indulgently at his declaration. Something odd was going on. She turned to her sulking father. “What about ye?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he mumbled. “I suppose I dinna have a choice.”

  “Of course ye have a choice,” Brodie yelled. “I’ll ne’er apologize.”

  Jaw clenched, Jamie strode to stand nose to nose with his brother. “Even for the sake of yer own bairns and grandbairns?” he asked.